


raison d'être

by cazei



Series: Newsies Works by Readeatsleeprepeat [8]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (All characters/ships other than Sprace are minor) (you've been warned), Any Era tbh, But i'll be willing to injure spot if given the prompt, Canon Era and Modern, I take prompts, M/M, Protective Spot, Race Is Ace in some chapters, Race Is Always Hurt Bc I Am Mean, Spot is so done, Sprace Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 20,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazei/pseuds/cazei
Summary: raison d'être - (n) a reason for existing.A series of moments between Spot and Race.-Note: not canceled, just marking as complete bc they can be read separately-New chaptersCh1. Card Games In BrooklynCh2. Bar FightCh3. card games and hickeysCh4. a small black boxCh5. two boys stand on a rooftopCh6. a small black box pt. 2 -- ProposalCh7. Frosted LipsCh8. advice from mrs. higginsCh9. Paw PrintsCh10. (their first) i love youCh11. double datesCh12. lifeguards and betsCh13. EpiPenCh14. silence in the apartmentCh15. his name is spotCh16. the higgins-conlon householdCh17. snowed inCh18. Please ReadCh19. an inside lookCh20. one nightCh21. tortillaCh22. white carnationCh23. fireworksCh24. s&bCh25. raceyhugginsCh26. BreakCh27. HeartBeatCh28. homesickCh29. unspokenCh30. tread lightly





	1. Card Games In Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy ~

"Hit," Race mutters, rubbing his head. 

"You sure?" Sling grins. 

Race lowers his hands. "When is that answer ever yes, Sling?" 

Sling shrugs but passes Race another face down card anyway. 

Neither take more cards, so they share a look and flip them over. 

Counting them up, Race counts his collection of cards to nineteen, and Sling's to twenty-four. 

"Hah!" Race yells. "Bust!"

Sling groans, and Blue laughs in his face. 

"You're bleeding us dry, Race," Blue says.

"Robbing my newsies, eh, Racetrack?" A voice says. 

Race turns to see Spot grinning at them from atop crates on another dock. Ever since Race and Sling got beaten up, Spot's been friendlier to Race. Not friendly, not really, but better. 

Race shrugs. "It's not my fault that your newsies suck at cards."

"It's a game of luck!" Sling protests. "Unless you, like, count cards or...Oh, my god. You count cards, don't you?"

Race lets out a short laugh, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he does so. 

"That's for me to know, and you to ignore."

Blue scoffs. "Isn't that cheating?"

"Nah," Race waves off, expertly shuffling the cards. "It's more...Using my skill set."

"Right. Skillset," Spot laughs. "You keep telling them that."

Race shrugs again. "Really, it's not my fault your newsies can't hold their own in a game of cards."

A loud "oh" floats around the ten or so Brooklyn newsies gathered on the docks. 

Spot shakes his head. "I could soak you right now."

Race tilts his head. "How about, you win the next hand and I'll go back to Manhattan, no soaking necessary."

Blue mutters to Sling, "Yeah, Spot Conlon's going to play cards. That'll be the day."

Spot leans forward. "And if you win?"

"Well, fuck," Sling mutters to Blue. 

Race leans back and makes a pondering face. 

"If I win," Race says eventually, "I want a cold Cola."

Spot sighs and climbs down from the crate he was on and slowly strolls over to the circle of card players and spectators, sitting in the light of the setting sun. 

Spot makes eyes contact with Race again, and he spits in his hand. 

"You've got a deal," Spot says.

Sling and Blue shift over, and their circle grows as Spot joins them. 

"I'll deal," Race says, shuffling the cards and avoiding Spot's eye. 

Spot leans back and watches Race's hand as he expertly maneuvers the cards in a flair of tricks. 

Race deals out the cards. 

They both examine the backs of their cards as if it can tell them what to do. 

"Hit," Spot says, shrugging. 

Race gives him another car, mutters, "Hit," and deals himself a card. 

Spot nods. "Hit, again."

"Really, Conlon?" Race tsks. "Risky."

Spot shrugs and gestures with his head toward the deck. Race shrugs his shoulders and tosses him a card. 

They flip all the cards over, and all the newsies erupt with laughter. 

It's a tie. 

"Are you kidding me?" Race says, counting the cards once, twice. Yup, they've both got the same amount.

Spot scoffs and tosses his cards onto the crate between them, and he leans back. 

"So, I guess I'm not getting a Cola," Race mumbles. "Damn."

"Guess you're not leaving either," Spot says, and he spits on the ground. "This was not worth it."

Blue scoffs. "Naturally."

Race laughs. "Guess I ain't leaving. Wanna start a game of hold 'em?"

Spot grumbles and shrugs out of the group, but Blue and Sling convince him to stay. After all, how often is it that Spot Conlon will play a game of cards with his -- and Racetrack, naturally -- newsies?

They play for another hour or so, uninterrupted. The Brooklyn newsies are all, spare the ones in the circle, no longer working, and they are most likely hanging about in the mess hall. A few mill around the docks, but it's getting too cold to swim. 

Then, just as the sun is disappearing from its slow setting, finally, and it grows dark, Sling notes someone walking towards them. 

The Brooklyn newsies grow defensive, and Spot bristles, until Race nods his head toward the figure. 

"Hey, Specs," Race says, and immediately all the Brooklyn newsies stand down. 

Specs nods back at him. "Ey, Race. You do know what time it is, right?"

"Nine?"

"Yep. Jack needs you," Specs says. "And apparently it was important enough to send me over here for, so we'd better go."

Race rolls his eyes. "He's such a princess. Okay, let's go."


	2. Bar Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race is hit on by an unwanted party, Spot steps in. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Possible attempted rape, undetailed violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just happened?

Frankly, I should’ve been expecting this.

Well, not exactly this.

Spot sits to my right, nursing his third drink. Jack to my left is already several shots into the night. David is next to him, sipping some sort of beer. I don’t expect anything more from stressed college students, barely old enough to legally drink. The only one not buzzed is me. I’m drinking a root beer float next to Spot, as alcohol interacts oddly with my medication. Works out well for them, however, because I’m the designated driver. I had one drink, though, but stopped halfway through it when Spot kept glaring at it and offering to buy me something, anything else.

As soon as Spot excused himself to go to the bathroom, that’s when I knew something was about to happen.

I, still happily sipping away at his drink, seemingly caught the attention of an older man who moved to sit next to him at the bar.

From next to me, David tells me that he and Jack are going to go outside so he can have a cigarette. I shrug and tell them to have fun, but not too much fun, and they’re gone.

The man next to me shifts in his seat, and I look over.

"Hey," He says when I catch his eye.

I tip my head. "Hello."

"You alone?" He asks.

I frown. "No, actually my friends just went outside to smoke."

He tuts. "Shame. I wonder who would leave a pretty ‘lil thing like you alone."

I swallow. "Well, uh, thank you. Actually, I should be going, they’re waiting for me."

A hand is at my arm. There’s a hand touching me, and there’s a hand holding my wrist. I jerk my head back up to the man's, looking into his drunk eyes. He can’t be much older than me, I think. But, oh shit, he’s bigger than Jack and Blink.

"Let me buy you a drink, babe." He winks at me.

"No thank you, really. I can’t have alcohol," I say.

"Then," He offers, "why don’t we go back to mine and have a better use of time, eh?"

I pull my arm back and stare dejectedly at the wall. "No, I’m good, really. Thanks for the offer."

He’s standing, leaning into me now as I shut my eyes and clench my hands.

"Can you please leave me alone," I say, and it’s not a question.

There’s a goddamn hand at my hip, and he’s squeezing.

"Oh, come on, baby. We can have a good time. Just come on, it’ll be worth it."

I keep my eyes shut. "Please, I need to go meet my friends."

"Oh, they won’t miss you. Hell, they might even be jealous. What, don’t tell me you aren’t gay?"

"Asexual, actually," I answer. "And I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, I can screw you better than your boy-toy ever will. Just one night, c’mon."

I shove his arms away and push myself out of the chair, hoping to make a beeline for the door.

"Oh," he chuckles. "How I do love a fighter."

And those words bring me to full-on panic mode. I speed-walk to the door, but he grabs my shoulder with a large hand. The bar is nearly empty, and the rest of the people are too drunk to care. Even the bartender has gone missing. I’m alone.

He rubs my neck, even though I turn and shove him off. He grabs my wrist, muttering words and taunts and promises, and presses my back against the bar. I can smell whisky on his breath.

"Can I help you?" A sharp voice asks, and I nearly cry with relief.

The drunk man grins and turns around. "Well, hello, shortie."

"Get off of him," Spot says stoically.

Hands stay at my wrists, and Spot's fly up. He hits the man in the jaw so suddenly that the man lets go and whirls around.

"Don’t touch him," Spot says dangerously. "You don’t get to touch him."

While the drunk man rubs at his jaw and groans stupidly, Spot's eyes fly over me.

“Tony, oh, my god, are you okay?"

"I…," I start. "I thought he was going to…"

"I know," Spot mutters. "I know, Race. Where are Jack and David?"

The drunk man takes a wild step towards Spot and I, but we easily side-step away and share a look.

"Smoking," I answer. "I- You were gone, and-"

"I’m so sorry, Anthony," Spot says as the drunk man regains his balance.

The man, despite being punched, grins at me. "C’mon, babe, don’t do this."

And Spot drags the bastard outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment?


	3. card games and hickeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race has a hickey, and all the boys want to hear about his girl. 
> 
> One problem. Race doesn't have a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk hickeys? warning?  
> swearing?  
> have fun. 
> 
>  
> 
> ** i swear i'll get to all the prompts, this one just seemed fun!!

Racetrack sits at a table in Brooklyn, behind some abandoned factory, and he shuffles the cards. All eyes are on him as he mixes the aces and spades with just a flick of his wrist and hands. He’s a master at this; this is his element. After a contemplating moment, he mentally decides the cards to be shuffled, and he deals them out to a silent table.

No one is drunk tonight. It’s a fun night, yes, but there is no drinking. The newsies of Manhattan and Brooklyn are mixing, when it is usually just Race in Manhattan, and both Spot and Jack are attending.

It’s for fun, yes, but lives are possibly at stake.

Never let it be said that Racetrack Higgins wasn’t a dramatic teenager. With a flare, he leads the card game, and at the moment it's all he can think of.

As he goes around the table to pass the second batch of cards out, Spot catches his eye, and he flushes.

He can't blush, though, so he stops himself with every ounce of control he can. Blushing will leave them both dead.

So, while Racetrack Higgins is dramatic, he has all the reason to be. In a world that wants you dead, the only thing you can do is be alive where it can't see you. Until that is, you have others allied to fight with you.

He looks across the table. That time and place is not now.

Race speaks aloud, breaking his thoughts and the silence alike. "Alright, assholes, let's see what you got."

It isn't until halfway through the round when someone notices.

He's leaning across the planked table to give Jack another card when his shirt collar dips forward.

Normally, this wouldn't be an issue.

Now is not normally.

Sling coughs. "Get lucky, eh, Race?"

At first, Race is confused, but then he sees Spot look determinedly at his cards and he remembers.

He remembers crossing the bridge with Mush and Blink and Jack and Itey and all of the prominent Manhattan newsies when he broke from the group.

He remembers Spot catching his wrist as he walked by an alley.

He remembers warm breath near his mouth and hands on his hips and passion.

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins remembers the passion from only an hour ago like it's happening now and a hundred years ago. It's both history and present, and he's drunk on it.

He also remembers Spot shakily redoing his shirt when they almost got caught, and he remembers walking to the card game by himself.

"Oh," Race says. "That's just a bruise. Nicked myself sellin' today."

"Right," Blue says. "You okay?"

"'Was an accident," Race shrugs. "Anyone else wanta' trade out a card?"

Jack smirks at him. "There's no way in hell that ain't a hickey, Race."

"How would you know, Mr. High and Mighty?" Race taunts. "No, seriously, does anyone else want to trade before we show cards?"

"Someone's avoiding the topic," Leaf, Brooklyn, says. "Tell us about your girl, eh Racey?"

"Ask her yourself, Leaf. You see your mom often enough," Race bites, and Leaf has the audacity to look upset.

"I outta soak you for talkin' bout my mother," Leaf bites.

"Wouldn't want to give him any more, eh, bruises," Mush mutters. "Am I right?

Jack snorts. "Oh, come on, Race. Just tell us."

"Are we playin' card or not?" Race grumbles. He can feel his cheeks burn.

"Spot, what do you think?" Blue asks after sharing a look with Sling.

Spot's fingers are clenched, but the average observer wouldn't notice. He exhales nad shrugs.

"All I know is that I whipped you guys this round, so you better cough up some money."

The newsies take this as a challenge, and the game starts once more.  
-  
Spot's breath smells like cigars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what'd you think about this?


	4. a small black box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if on reflex, Spot reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, black box and places it on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one asked for this but it happened okay i'm sorry

  
Spot's fingers drum on the car door as he loiters. He reaches his fingers around the handle before deciding against it and pulling back.

He only imagines what Race would say if he were there.

“Sean Conlon, Mr. Fearless, afraid of my parents? Who knew.”

And.

“What’s the worst that can happen, Spot? Oh, how the tables have turned.”

Spot shakes his head and shakily open the car door.

If this is nerve-wracking, he can hardly imagine having the same conversation with Tony.

His feet move automatically, and he’s at the door without realizing. His hand knocks, simply because of muscle memory.

The oak door swings open, and Maria's grinning face is in its place.

“Oh, Sean! How are you, dear?” She calls, pulling Spot into a tight hug. Then, she notices the trembling. She holds her son’s best friend and soulmate at arm's length. “Is everything alright, Sean? Is Tony okay?”

Spot blinks. “Tony? He’s...He’s great, actually. Is Marco here?”

Maria frowns slightly. “Yes, actually. Would you like me to get him?”

“Actually, can I come in? I’d like to talk to both of you.”

Maria leads the way through the small house, their old one having been sold when the Race went to college five years ago. Marco sits in his office, and Maria knocks at the door with a nervous smile.

“Marco, can you spare a moment? I think Sean wanted a word with us.”

Marco pushes his chair from his desk in an instant and glances conflictedly at Spot. “Is everything alright?”

Spot smiles, but it’s fake, and nods. This doesn’t seem to reassure the Higgins'.

Maria seats them at the dining table, but she stands hesitantly still.  
“Can I get you anything to drink?” She asks.

“Ah, no thank you, I’m fine. I’ve been meaning to have this conversation for a while, so I can’t really think of anything else.”

Maria sits and nods, waving for him to go on.

“So...I’ve known you all for a long time,” Spot says, and it’s true. They grew up together. “And, as you know, Tony and I have been dating since senior year of high school...That’s, uh, five years, nearly six. And, well…”

Marco speaks. “Sean, if you mean to break up with Antonio, for whatever reason, talk to him.”

“No,” Spot blurts. “No, no, no.”

As if on reflex, Spot reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, black box and places it on the table.

Marco's eyes widen, and Maria gasps.

“I, uh,” Spot stutters. “I guess my father raised me more traditionally than we thought because I’m here to ask, well, your permission. To marry your son.”

Maria has a hand over her mouth, eyes wet. “You...Oh, my, Sean, of course!”

Marco is smiling more than Spot has ever seen him. “I would be honored to have you as a son, Sean.”

In a flash, everyone is standing and crying and hugging.  
  
“I was so worried,” Spot mutters.

“I don’t want anyone else with my son,” Maria says. “You’re good for each other.

Yeah, Spot thinks. We are.

Now, all he has to do it ask Tony. Piece of cake.

 _Sure_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,, that happened. what'd you think?
> 
> yell at me on tumblr: @calciumsulfide


	5. two boys stand on a rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poetry, kind of. 
> 
> CW: ending can be interpreted as suicide, be aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. this is different and short. i'm watching sherlock season 4 and i just was reminded of the bart's scene from s2 ep3. this happened. it's short, yes, and i typed it in 2 minutes. enjoy¿

two boys stand on a rooftop above the world.   
they don't speak, it isn't necessary. they communicate through silence and glances.   
they are both covered in bruises and blood. both are from different sources. both are reminders.   
one has the reminder of a broken home and family. the other has the reminder of responsibility and pressure.   
both boys are cracked, desperate to fill the others seams but never able, for the seams are voids instead. 

two boys stand on a rooftop above the world, a secret with the weight of a black hole between them.   
this isn't an average secret; this is not fun. this is life and death. and love.   
love nearly balances the former two out. nearly. 

two boys stand on a rooftop above the world tired and cold, but they've both slept well and the weather is warm. they are alone despite having each other. they are voids, vacuums; a product of their time, just part of an assembly line. 

two boys stand on a rooftop above the world, a world that wants them dead. they are alive, despite it all, but they are alive where the world cannot see them. they live behind closed doors and in bricked alley-ways during hours that were not meant to be seen. there is a time for them to be alive, happy, with the support of this world behind them, but that time is not now. 

two boys fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment this is so weird for me to post something this different i need reassurance


	6. a small black box pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Spot doesn’t immediately respond, Race turns around to see Spot on his knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part two to a small black box!! enjoy !!
> 
> this got long and i was gonna post it on it's own but i didn't wanna have to tag a new post so i didn't hahhahah Exams

Spot successfully got permission from the Higgins'. The hard part was over, right?

Wrong.

  


They weren't a romantic couple. They held hands and such in public, but they weren't ones for PDA. They didn't need attention. It's just who they were.

  


That being said, secretly, both of them are huge romantics at heart, and Spot _cannot_ screw this up.

He sighs, starts his car, and begins the journey back to Brooklyn from Manhattan. It’s slow, filled with traffic. He’s gotten a massive weight off his chest, but its place is filled by what must be a pile of bricks in his pocket. 

 

The engagement ring he bought must be kept in a TARDIS or something, Spot swears, because small boxes shouldn’t be that heavy. 

 

It would be good to note that _of course_ Spot doesn’t watch _Doctor Who._ Pfft. Who is he, a nerd? How dare you even think of such a thing. 

 

Yeah, _that_ was a lie. 

 

Sean Conlon and his boyfriend are nerds, and everyone knows it.

 

The drive home feels like a huge waste of time as if he might as well just move to Manhattan to avoid Race’s inevitable rejection and avoid having to face him. 

 

Yeah, Manhattan it is. 

 

Just as Spot is considering buying an apartment he sees on an ad he drives past, his phone starts to buzz. He uses the In-Car calling feature, because _dammit he’s a safe driver_ , and waits for whoever's calling to introduce themselves through the hazy speakers of his Jeep. 

 

“Hey, Sean, are we getting take-out tonight?” Race says without preamble. Spot shouldn’t be smiling at these simple words, this phrase, but he is. 

 

“Want me to pick something up?” Spot suggests. 

 

“Oh, yes, please,” Race exhales. “I was _not_ looking forward to going back out into the city to get it. God, Morris, from work, was a bigger ass than usual today. I’ll have to tell you about it later.”

 

Spot chuckles. “My offer is still on the table. Do you want me to punch him for you?”

 

“I’d rather not be the barely-out-of-college employee who has his boyfriend punch his collegues, but I appreciate the offer,” Race says fondly, and Spot is gone. 

 

“Whatever you say, Love. I’ll pick up some sandwiches from Jacob’s Deli, okay?”

 

Race agrees, they create an order together, and Spot hangs up the phone. It’s mundane, but it’s them. And it’s perfect. 

 

—

 

Sometime between driving to their small apartment in Brooklyn, Spot makes his decision. It’s been a long day already, but his decision is made when he sees a number of things. 

 

First, the two mothers holding hands as they push a stroller, laughing and smiling.

 

Second, the two young teenagers who are so wrapped up in each other's eyes that they don’t notice when a bike messanger nearly runs them over. When they do notice, they laugh and clutch onto each other with all the panic of a near miss and the relief of one, too. 

 

The people in love and the friends and the people simply enjoying each other’s company. That’s how Spot wants to be with Race, all the time. 

 

He needs to propose. And soon. 

 

—

 

The first time he tries, he can’t go through. 

 

They’re at an expensive dinner wearing expensive clothing sitting in an expensive room with expensive people. 

 

They laugh and eat the food, living in each others company, but Spot keeps the ring in his pocket. Something isn’t right, there are too many people. 

 

It’s not _them_. 

 

—

 

The second time is only a week later. 

 

They’re in the park, just after sunrise. It’s a Sunday, and the only reason they’re up this early is that Davey is setting up a fundraiser soon, and Jack asked them to come and help. 

 

The trees are lit with sunlight flooding through the gaps in the leaves, and it’s probably a metaphor for something. Neither care, though. They’re too busy playing in the leaves, avoiding their responsibilities, and suddenly Race trips and flies into Spot. 

 

They both go tumbling to the ground. Instead of the twenty-something-year-olds that they are, they laugh and cry out like children. 

 

Spot rolls in the middle of the air, landing with his back on the ground instead of Race. Race plows into Spot’s chest, burrowing himself in Spot’s arms. 

 

“Oh, my god!” Race cries out as they lie in the leaves. “Spot, I’m so sorry!”

 

They’re sitting up, laughing and breathing in the leaves of the sunlit park. Spot thinks he could do it. All he would have to do is shift his leg and ask the question, the ring could come later. Besides, it’s in his car. He doesn’t leave it in the apartment, just in case Race stumbles upon it. 

 

But, Jack calls them back over, and the moment is over. 

 

—

 

They’re in their pajamas, and it’s four in the morning. 

 

They’re in their pajamas, it’s four in the morning, and Spot is stumbling out of their bedroom to find Race in the kitchen, stirring a pan. 

 

“Tony, what’re you doin’?” Spot yawns, stumbling out into the kitchen. 

 

Race jumps, spinning around to meet him. 

 

“I- Well, I woke up, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Then I remembered that I haven’t practiced any of my cooking recently, and it seemed like a good thing to do.”

 

Spot walks sleepily to Race, wrapping his arms around the younger boys neck and torso. He speaks into Race’s curls and says, “Come back to bed, Tony.”

 

Race swats his arm away with the handle of the spatula. “In a bit. Now, stay and help or get outta my hair.”

 

Spot sighs and takes the spatula. 

 

“What’re we making today, chef?” Spot asks.

 

Spot follows Race’s lead as they dance around the kitchen, cooking and mixing. Everyone is wonderful, as it should be. Race doesn’t work in a kitchen, and go to college for years, for nothing. 

 

However, Race was never taught in gracefulness. He trips and spills flour all over the both of them. 

 

Spot and Race are laughing, grinning, and covered in flour. Race has bedhead, and Spot isn’t sure what he could look like. But it’s them. 

 

Spot is suddenly frozen in realization, and Race stops laughing to look at him. 

 

“What?” Race asks, and his voice is soft and curious. 

 

Spot excuses himself with a wave and finds himself blindly walking to where he last stored the ring. With shaking hands, he opens and examines the ring. Yep. Still here. 

 

He belatedly realizes that he’s walking back to Race, who’s gone back to cooking and humming softly to himself. This is where Spot wants to be. 

 

He clears his throat. “Eh, Anthony?”

 

“Yeah, Sean?” Race says. 

 

When Spot doesn’t immediately respond, Race turns around to see Spot on his knee. 

 

The spatula clatters to the floor; Race’s hands fly to his mouth. 

 

“Sean?” Race asks quietly. 

 

“This took me to long to ask,” Spot says, and unsurprisingly his voice is shaking. “But, Tony, I love you so much. I want to spend every day with you if you want. We’ve done it since junior year of high school, I-I think this could work too. If you want.”

 

“Yes - Sean, oh, my god, yes!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i am a fifteen-year-old who tries to write pleas e give me validation 
> 
> comment?


	7. frosted lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Spot fight in a bakery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i'm getting to all the prompts *eventually* i am trying i sweAR

Let it be said that Spot did not like bakeries. 

 

It’s not that he hates them or anything, he just never saw himself of someone that could work or frequent in one. 

 

Then, his cousin asked him to cover her shift at the Higgins’ Bakery in lower Manhattan. 

 

He loves his cousin, and his cousin loves her job. Naturally, he stepped up to the plate. 

 

After two minutes of begging from Missy, that is. 

 

Two minutes, plus one Cousin With A Cold, equals one Spot Conlon taking the subway to a bakery. In the middle of the summer. When he could be doing _literally_ anything else. 

 

—

 

Marcus Higgins sways around his shop, pointing the varius things out to Spot. When he looks at Spot once more, he instantly decides to put him on icing duty. No, he doesn't get to ice pastries, he gets to make the icing and someone else gets to do the fun part of his job. 

 

Missy’s job. Not his job. 

 

Right. 

 

Spot’s directed to a small corner of the kitchen, given a stool and the recipe, and left on his own. 

 

For an hour, all is well. Spot makes a pot or two of the icing, it’s delicious, and the two employees in the shop use it as fast as he makes it. 

 

Then, the store owners son comes in for his shift, and Spot thinks he’d rather quit than deal with this stuck up, pretentious, little— 

 

Okay, so the shop keeper’s son is really cute and Spot is really gay. 

 

No biggie. He can deal. 

 

Ha, ha. _Right._

The other kid —  _Race_ is what his father called him — seems quiet at first, and then Spot adds too much vanilla to the batter.

 

“Ey, new kid,” Race calls, and Spot whips his head up.

 

“What?” Spot says, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Stop using so much vanilla,” Race calls back. “It smells like a soap shop over here.”

 

“Whatever, Manhattan,” Spot mutters. 

 

He ignores it for the rest of the day, but when they’re twenty minutes from closing and nearly everyone else is gone, Spot decides to use what’s left of the ingredients to make a final 1/3 pot of batter. 

 

Then, he dumps half a container of vanilla in it and carelessly throws it on the table. Race looks up and barely has time to inahle before he glares at Spot. 

 

“What the hell is this?”

 

“The rest of your icing, your highness,” Spot says and turns around to whip down his workspace _and_ _make a promise to himself to never go to a bakery again._

Then, Race turns and smears a long streak of vanilla scented icing on the back of Spot’s shirt. Spot pauses in his step.

“Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”

He hears a scoff, and suddenly all Spot can think about is showing _a certain Italian_ how they do things in Brooklyn.

 

He turns, grabs a spoon, and watches Race’s eyes widen as Spot smears a strike of frosting on his cheek. 

 

“Funny,” Race mutters, takes a handful of frosting, and tosses the glob onto Spot’s hair. 

 

It esclates, if possible. 

 

They’re both trying to grab frosting, keep the pot of frosting from the other, and smearing it on them. 

 

They pull apart, staring at each other and the mess around them. 

 

Spot can’t help himself. He’s staring into the eyes of a _really_ pretty boy, and he’s also _really_ gay. And tired. When he’s really tired, he doesn’t have much judgement. 

 

He presses his frosted lips to Race’s, and suddenly the world makes sense. 

 

No, that’s a gross hyberbole. The world is still a confusing speck in the entirety of the universe, war and poverty are still in existence, and, frankly, these are high schoolers. Nothing makes sense to them. 

 

The world may be a mess, but _Race kisses back._

Race’s hands go behind his neck, so he threads his through his hair. 

 

Frosting is, frankly, everywhere. It’s on his lips, in his hair, on his hands. 

 

And, when he moves his hands to Race’s hips, it’s there, too. 

 

The clock in the store chimes seven times, and the two of them spring apart like a firecracker. 

 

They’re a few feet away from each other now, gasping. 

 

Race’s hand is at his lips. Spot stares determinedly at a cupboard, and _wow, that’s such a pretty yellow and white combination._

“That was…” Race says.

 

Spot laughs. “Yeah.”

 

“So, uh…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You work here now?” Race asks, and he picks at a string on his sleeve.”

 

“Nah, I’m just taking my cousin’s shift,” Spot says. “But, uh, look.” He scribbles something down on a piece of paper near him. “Here’s my number. Uh, use it. Please.”

 

A smile appears on Race’s lips. “I guess.”

 

 

—

 

 

_Race: Hey, this is Race. Is this Spot?_

_Spot: oh hey race_

_Spot: that’s not your real name right_

_Race: Yeah, as if Spot’s your real name._

_Race: And it’s Anthony._

 

_Spot: sean conlon_

_Race: That’s the whitest name ever._

_Race: I’m._

_Spot: eloquent_

_Race: Oh, big word, city boy._

_Spot: okay so tony i have a question_

_Race: Hit me with it._

_Spot: go on a date with me?_

_Spot: oh god please respond i’ve never asked anyone out before_

_Race: Yes, of course I will._

_Race: I get off my shift at the bakery tomorrow at eight, pick me up then._

_Spot: wow forward_

_Spot: kidding i’ll see you then_

_—_

_Race: That was a good date. I had fun._

_Spot: kissing without icing was good too_

_Race: Scandelous._

_Spot: ; )_

_Race: Who’s forward now?_

_Spot: ahaha funny_

_Race: About that I want to tell you something._

_Race: I know we’ve been on, like, one date, but I want to make sure you know this now before I start to really like you._

_Spot: who’d you kill_

_Spot: hopefully that was a joke_

_Race: Yeah, it’s just, and this may seem like a lot right now, but before we go on more dates, I just want you to know..._

_Spot: whatever it is just tell me_

_Race: I’m Asexual._

_Spot: oh okay_

_Race: Wait, this is okay?_

_Spot: uh yeah? i’m not acephobic?_

_Spot: sex isn’t everything?_

_Race: Oh, thank god._

_Spot: get some sleep, tony_

_Race: You too, Sean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr. yell at me. @calciumsulfide
> 
> comment?


	8. advice from mrs. higgins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race is having a bad time. Spot calls his mom for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy~

Maria Higgins had her day planned out. She’d see her twins in the morning before they were picked up for school, prepare for a board meeting, then call her middle child at ten, go to work at eleven for a board meeting, return at three and read until Marco returned from work, watch a movie with dinner, and go to sleep. Chaotic, yes, but that’s how it usually went. 

She wasn’t sure about Anthony's schedule at the moment, a few of his shorter classes were almost over, so she’d text him somewhere between it all.

Sometime between seeing the twins off to school and preparing, though, she gets a phone call from a number without a contact. Not many people have her cell number, so she decides on a whim to answer it.

"Hello?" She greets.

"Hi," A cheerful voice says. "Is this Maria Higgins?"

"It is," Maria says. "And who might this be?"

"Ah, Sean Conlon? I’m Race's—Anthony's roommate?"

"Oh, hello, Sean!" Valera says. “Tony's mentioned you. Is he alright?"

"Well, yes, but no. That’s why I called, actually. I know he’s got anxiety and stuff, you can’t really hide it from a roommate and we’ve talked about it. I don’t have them myself, but my mom’s a therapist, actually, so she’s taught me how to help others, you know? Well, I know he’s really stressed about finals and everything coming up, and I basically wanted to ask what you did during high school? Like does he have a favorite meal that calms him down a bit?"

Maria is quiet for a second. “Sean, you are possibly the sweetest person I’ve ever met. I am suddenly very, very aware of how lucky Tony and I are to have you end up as his roommate."

Spot chuckles. "Really, he’s my best friend. It’s, like, second nature at this point, but I’m happy you’re happy."

Maria can’t recall a time someone's called her son their best friend. Her throat hurts and constricts with love for a boy she barely knows.

"You should come to New York this summer and stay with us. I would be delighted to meet you."

"Oh," Spot sounds surprised. "That’d-that’d be awesome, actually. I’d love to. I’ll have to make sure Tony wants me there, first."

Maria laughs. "Of course. Now, for your question, pastries. Pie, cake, anything. He doesn’t usually eat it, but when he’s feeling bad he’s got a sweet tooth."

Spot exhales with what Maria thinks is relief. "Thank you. That’s really helpful."

"Anytime, Dear."

“Tony'll be back any minute, so I should probably go. Thank you so much for your help, though."

"Thank you for being friends with my son. He’s a wonderful person, but he doesn’t see it."

"Oh, he’s great. And, yeah, I know. Isn’t it terrible how some people can’t see what others see? Like, if only he could look at himself how I do. Well, the only thing we can do is support him."

Maria reminds herself to buy this child a christmas present and send a few care packages.

"Have a wonderful day, Spot. I’m afraid I have to go into work for a meeting now, but I hope we chat soon."

"You too, Mrs. Higgins. Have a great day."

Maria stares at her darkened phone screen for a few seconds, rethinking everything Tony's ever said about Sean through text or over the phone.

" _But, yeah, my roommate's name is Sean this year. He seems nice. He’s in pre-med."_

_"Hold on, Spot's trying to tell me something -- What? Oh, no thanks...Really, I’m fine...Ugh, you’re insufferable. Fine, I’ll take one -- Okay, I’m back. Spot's making me eat a waffle."_

_Tony: I’ll have to call you tomorrow, Spot wants to go to a movie. Apparently I don’t get out much._

_"Yeah, hold on -- Ha, Spot! Knock it off! Stop making faces at me, I’m trying to talk to my mom -- HA! Stop tickling me! Ah, Mom, I need to call you back! Ha, Sean-!"_

_"I’ll call you tomorrow, Sean wanted me to try to sleep early tonight because I was studying late last night."_

And all of these are from only a few weeks of them knowing each other.

She grins and goes to order another plane ticket to New York from California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment ?


	9. paw prints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race adopts a puppy while Spot is out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy~

It was a _fucking_ Tuesday. Of course it was. 

 

Despite it all, Spot still cannot stand Tuesdays. He and Race kissed and broke up and got back together, all on Tuesday’s. Him and Race got engaged on a Tuesday. 

 

They got _married_ on a Tuesday, for fucks sake, and Spot still can’t stand the day. 

 

So far, he’s had a board meeting. Across the country, far from Race. 

 

His flight back was on a Tuesday, and that should’ve been his first hint. 

 

His second hint that today would be a _Tuesday-_ Tuesday was when he was late to the airport, spilled a coffee on himself in the line to security, and then his plane was delayed for two hours. 

 

Finally, though, he gets back to New York and he can finally _breathe_. 

 

Traffic is as usual (read: _hell_ ) and he simply blames it on Tuesday and waves it off. 

 

He reaches his apartment building, grins at the employees for once, and nearly _runs_ to the elevator. To Race. 

 

Okay, Spot Conlon isn’t a sap. But when you spend a week away from your husband of two years, it feels like a lifetime. Forever. 

 

However, he frowns when the only response to his knock on their apartment door is a _yap_. 

 

“Race? You home?” Spot calls, turning his key in the lock. 

 

He hears the patters of footprints racing toward the door, and Spot _fucking hates Tuesdays_. 

 

A small German Shepard puppy is hanging off his legs, wagging its tail excitedly. 

 

“Tony!” Spot yells.

 

Their bedroom door opens and Race appears sheepishly in it. 

 

“Hey, honey,” Race says. “How was the meeting?”

 

“What the hell is this?” Spot asks. 

 

Race frowns and sighs. “Don’t be mad…”

 

Spot laughs. “Tony, I can’t believe you.”

 

“I just, you were gone, and I got lonely, and the sign said there was a huge discount, and, well…Meet Ace.”

 

“You named her after a fucking card,” Spot says. “Fucking unbelievable.”

 

“Nah, don’t pretend you’re annoyed,” Race says, crossing over to Spot. “It’s why you married me.”

 

“It is,” Spot says, letting his lips meet Race’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the repeated use of tuesday's is from another fic of mine but i can't remember which one lmfao
> 
> comment~


	10. i love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first "i love you" shared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy~
> 
> but oh my god every time i see a new comment i cry with joy ily all so much ahhhhhh
> 
> enjoy~for~real~now~

Race and Spot stand in the Higgins' kitchen, approaching their three month anniversary. They’ve been friends for ages, so "I Love You’s" aren’t rare. Until, that is, they started dating. It meant more at that point, and both of them notice.

They’re standing in the kitchen, it’s the middle of the night, and Spot came over to help Race with a cooking project he needs to prefect before class tomorrow.

The Texts From Earlier:

_Race: yeah, so then tomorrow i gotta bake the pastry for my culinary final and if i pass i get half art credit and a half extracurricular credit_

_Spot: How’s your recipie doing?_

_Race: oh shit i need to finish it_

_Race: fuck fuck fuck_

_Race: oh jesus spot i still don’t know how much flour to use_

_Spot: Tony, it’ll be great. Promise. It tasted amazing when I tried it last._

_Race: no but the flour is wrong and if i use too much tomorrow i’ll fail and then i won’t get my credits and then i can’t graduate next year_

_Spot: Ant, breathe._

_Race: sean i’m fine i just gotta do this_

_Spot: It’s two in the morning. Sleep. Figure it out in the morning._

_Race: no it’s fine i just need to do this now_

_Spot: Anthony._

_Spot: Okay, I’m coming over._

_Race: no Sean it’s fine_

_Race: …Spot?_

_Spot: Open the door, I’m here._

_Race: shit okay_

 

That’s how Spot pulls Race into a quick hug before helping him make samples of different pastries, just to taste the difference in flour.

A moment later, Race is mixing one of the final batches while the rest are in the oven. They’re silent, but they could be yelling and everyone else is too far away in the large house to care. Or hear.

Race exhales sharply, trying to expel excess anxiety, and Spot looks over.

"You good?" Spot asks.

Race shrugs. "Been better."

Spot pulls him into a quiet side hug, pressing his lips to Race's curls briefly.

This seems to amuse Race, and he laughs softly. The exhale of air sends flour into the air. It flurries around them like a snowstorm, and they both look at it in disbelief.

"That’s going to take forever to clean," Race whines.

Spot sighs and sticks his finger in the batter and whips it on Race's cheek.

"Whoops," He drawls.

Race, an Higgins by blood, turns and draws a line of flour down Spot's forehead to his chin.

Naturally, this turns into the two of them half-heartedly smearing flour on the other’s torso and head.

They stop after a moment, Spot holding both of Race's wrists between them, and stare into each other's eyes. Spot looks at the curl falling in front of Race's face, the flour it’s covered in, and he admires the way it looks like a single light in the darkness. His amber eyes are squinted as he laughs and wrinkles his nose.

"God, I love you so much," Spot mutters, and then he processes that. Then, Race processes it, and they both freeze and look at each other.

"Okay," Spot starts. He’s scanning Race's face, looking for signs of emotion; Race's face is simply a void with big eyes. "I-Well, I’m not going to say it’s not true -- God, Tony, you’re my best friend of course I love you, but it is different now. Of course it is. But, er, that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. But it is soon, yeah, so I’ll back off if you need me to."

Race blinks at him. "Y-you love me."

“I-Anthony, yes, I do."

"I, well, I love you, too," Race says, and before Spot can believe it, Race is kissing him and both of them are crying and laughing and kissing. 

It was the first “I Love You” shared between them, but I’ll be damned if it was the last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how was that?'  
> soft spot and anxious race are mE


	11. double dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sling and Blue pine, so Race and Spot set them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. my last day of school is rlly close so i wanna say expect more frequent updates *hopefully*
> 
>  
> 
> ENJOY SOME QUALITY GAYNESS

 

To say that Race was confused when Spot Conlon _the Quarterback_ walked up to him after school as if he wanted to speak…Well, to say he was simply confused would be an understatement. 

 

Race looks away from his locker in shock as he realizes that Spot is still there. 

 

“Uh, hey?” Race says cautiously, making sure there’s no one near him that Spot wants to talk to, and he’s not in the way. They’re alone. 

 

“Hey, so,” Spot says. “I’m not sure how to say this. I’m pretty sure our friends are pining over each other, and I want your help to set them up.”

 

Race blinks. “Oh, do you mean Sling and Blue?”

 

Spot laughs. “See! I’m not the only one.”

 

Blue, Race’s friend, is on the lacrosse team. Race has seen him talk to Sling from the football team a few times. 

 

“Blue _never_ stops talking about Sling,” Race says. “Like, ever.”

 

Spot leans against a locker and exhales. “You wouldn’t believe what I went through when Blue hurt his wrist in a game last month. ‘ _Spot, do you think I should ask if he needs help with his book? Why are you looking at me like that. He looks like he needs help. Spot — stop laughing.’”_

Race sighs. “You’re right. We need to set them up.”

 

Spot pulls out his phone. “Put your number in. After football practice, I’ll text you and we can plan.”

 

Huh. His number in a football players phone? _Yes, please and thank you_ , Race thinks and enters his number.

 

“Talk to you later,” Race says, giving Spot an award winning smile when he hands back his phone. “I need to catch the bus.”

 

“Later,” Spot waves. 

 

—

 

_Spot: Hey, is this Race_

_Race: yeah_

_Spot: Sweet. So, any ideas?_

_Race: not one_

_Spot: This is going to be harder than I thought._

_Spot: What about just asking them to talk to each other?_

_Race: yeah well blue does not like talking to new people_

_Spot: Shit._

_Race: yeah_

_Spot: Classic, lock them in a closet until they talk trope?_

_Race: yeah, no. along with socially anxious, blue is claustrophobic_

_Spot: It’s been an hour and we don’t have a plan._

_Spot: Raceeee_

_Race: stop whining i’m Thinking_

_Spot: Really? I didn’t know you were able to do that._

_Race: fuck you_

_Spot: You may try._

_Race: har-har._

_Spot: I got it._

_Spot: Here’s the plan:_

_—_

The plan was simple. Spot tells Sling that he’s going to dinner with Race as a date; Spot will pretend to be nervous, and ask if Sling will do a double-date with them. 

 

Because Sling is single, he’ll say that he has no one to go with. That’s when Sling is informed that Race is brining a friend, and it all works out. 

 

In the middle of dinner, Race and Spot dine-and-dash, leaving Sling and Blue at dinner. Alone. 

 

—

 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Race asks again. 

 

Spot, from on his bed, nods. “Yes, Race, I am. For the tenth time, I know Sling.” Spot watches as Race goes through his closet, looking for something to wear. “No — moron, go back. Yeah, that shirt. It’ll go with your eyes.”

 

“Lookin’ at my eyes, Conlon?” Race says, eyeing Spot in the mirror.

 

“Be flattered,” Spot says. “I could be looking in a million other places.”

 

Race throws the shirt at him, and it drapes over his face. 

 

“Perv!”

 

—

 

“This isn’t Sling’s house.”

 

“ _You said he lived here_.”

 

“No, I said he lived on the street to the left. You turned right.”

 

“...I hate you.”

 

“Yep.”

 

—

 

“So, who is my date?” Sling asks from the back seat. “Because I seem to have left my invisible friend at home.”

 

“Har-har,” Spot says. “We’re on our way to his house now.”

 

Race laughs. “I should probably have texted him.”

 

Sling blinks. “He- He doesn’t know about this?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

—

 

“Blue, please!” Race argues. “He’s in the car!”

 

Blue puts his head under his pillow. “I don’t want to. You won’t even tell me who it is.”

 

“ _Harvey_ ,” Race says. “Please, it’s just Sling.”

 

Blue sits up and the pillow falls to the ground. “ _You got me a date with Louis Pollard and didn’t tell me_.”

 

“Might have. Now, get dressed. He’s waiting.”

 

 

_Race: getting dressed. harv’s coming. might wanna let sling know it’s blue, tho_

_Spot: I’ll tell him._

_Spot: “Blue? Wait, you mean Harvey? Oh…Okay. Uh. Shit. Oh, my god, Spot, how’d you know? I fucking hate you. Stop smiling.”_

_Race: perfect._

_—_

The drive is awkward. Blue and Sling sit in the back seat, making idle conversation. Mostly, Race and Spot’s voices fill the car. They talk and laugh genuinely, and it’s a surprise that everything feels so natural when it’s a facade. 

 

They reach the local restaurant, though, and no ones died yet. Blue and Sling have barely spoken, but their faces are flushed and when Blue trips on his way in the restaurant, Sling steadies him with hands on Blue’s hips.

 

Race considers it a win. 

 

—

 

Much like in the car, Spot and Race’s voice are the main focus of conversation. Sling and Blue listen avidly, but rarely comment. 

 

When Sling makes a joke, though, and Blue laughs loudly, Spot and Race share a look. 

 

Race’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it from under the table. 

 

_Spot: It’s a start. Let’s go._

_Race: i’ll leave, come find me outside in 5 min_

 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Race says and stands. He walks in the _opposite_ direction of the bathroom.

 

Spot meets him outside a minute later. 

 

“Let’s text them so they know what’s happening,” He suggests. “Then do you want to get ice cream or something and hang out?”

 

Race grins. “I’d love to.”

 

—

 

_Race: hey, blue, spot and i weren’t on a date_

_Blue: ? you sure fuckin acted like it._

_Blue: wait wtf am i doing here then_

_Race: i do not want to see you pine over sling for much longer. enjoy your *date*_

_Blue: fuckin hell race_

_Race: ;)_

 

_Spot: Hey, Sling._

_Sling: Where did you both go_

_Spot: Ask Blue._

_Sling: Okay_

_Sling: Spot. Why._

_Spot: You like him, he likes you. Do something about it._

_Sling: …_

_Sling: Thanks, man_

_Spot: Anytime. I love people owing me._

_Sling: S h i t_

_—_

_Race: i had fun._

_Spot: Maybe next time we can go on an actual date? If that isn’t too forward…_

_Race: I’d love to._

 

 

_Blue: RACE I GOT A BOYFRIEND NOW SUCK IT_

_Race: nah, i think that’s slings job_

_Blue: okay i am fucking asexual first of all_

_Race: is there a second of all?_

_Blue: no_

 

 

_Sling: So, uh, Blue kisses really well._

_Spot: Gay_

_Sling: Says the most bisexual person I know_

_Spot: G a y_

_Sling: Oh, go kiss Race._

_Spot: Good idea._

_Sling: Haha_

_Sling: Wait what_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sling and blue are from my other series, [ Boring Without You. ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/711564)
> 
> psa they're fucking gay as hell 
> 
>  
> 
> psa blue is irish and sling is half portuguese 
> 
> psa sling is a month older, to the day 
> 
> psa i love them


	12. lifeguards and bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot is a life guard. is it that hard to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy, losers. i'm like almost done with school. like ten minutes. so i mean yeah. use that information how you will.

Race did not want to have to watch his six cousins and four siblings.

Perks of being the oldest in a large Italian family are as follows: you’re responsible for everyone, always in charge, and always pressured.

So, no. Race wasn't really looking forward to taking ten kids to the public pool. In all honesty, who would be?

Their aunt had to drop off her kids since Race's car wasn't big enough. That should've been his first sign that it was not going to be a good day.

Then, he forgot the sunscreen, towels, and his brothers and sisters forgot their changes of clothes, so it was going to be a day.

They all met at the gates, and Race's Aunt Cornelia only stuck around long enough to help wrangle all the kids and teenagers into the pool deck. With a peck on Race's cheek and a ruffle of his hair, she was gone, too.

So far, his first year of adulthood -- he had just turned eighteen a week ago -- wasn't going as well as he'd hoped.

"Anna," Race calls, and his youngest cousin stops. "Make sure you've got a life jacket on."

She pouts and looks at the rest of the Higgins clan, already in the water. "But-"

"No buts," Race says, and reminds himself of his father. He bristles and continues. "You're five, the rules say you need a jacket."

She rolls her eyes as only a Higgins can.

"Fine," Anna says. "But make Matteo wear one too!"

Race looks to see his youngest sibling nearing the water. "Fine. Matt! Come get a life jacket!"

Matteo ignores him and jumps into the pool. Race uses his free hand, the one not holding his book and car keys, to rub his temple.

It's going to be a long day.

\--

About twenty minutes of Race sitting in a stretched out pool chair, trying to protect his book from water, later, his oldest sister (and second oldest Higgins child in attendance) plops herself near him.

"Hey, Mar," Race says to Mariana, who's 16.

"Tony," She says cooly. "I need you to help me with my gaydar."

Race puts his bookmark in, sits up, and is at attention. "I'm listening."

"The lifeguard," Mariana says. Race looks up on the tower to see a short, stocky man. He's possibly Race's age, and can't be much older or younger. He watches the pool with a stern glance, and Race already doesn't want to have to deal with this guy when his cousins fuck up.

"What about him?" Race says distractedly.

"Marcella thinks he's straight, but I'm saying he's at least Bi. What do you think?" Mariana says, referencing her twin sister.

"For my sake, I'm hoping Bi," Race mutters, and then he realizes what he's said. "Wait-"

Mariana grins and laughs. "Oh, my. Does someone have a crush?"

"No, I do not," Race defends.

"Yeah, you do."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Mariana, I'm not playing this game," Race says. "What does it matter if he's queer or not?"

Mariana laughs deviously. "It doesn't. I was just betting with 'Cella to see if I could fluster you in less than a minute. I win. Thanks, fratello."  
(brother)

"Tu piccolo!-" Race calls.   
(you little!-)

Mariana simply shakes her head and skips back to the pool.

Siblings, Race thinks darkly. They're worse than anything.

\--

Race is getting a drink at the food stand when it happens. He accepts his lemonade, pays, and turns on his heel to return to his Spawn of Satan -- I mean, his family.

And then he smacks right into somebody's chest, spilling the lemonade on both of them.

For a moment, it's silent. Then, Race starts with the apologies.

He grabs napkins from behind him while repeatedly saying, "God, I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was behind me. I'm so, so sorry-"

There's a hand at his shoulder.

"Hey, it's just lemonade. No one’s mad," The owner of the hand says.

Race looks into the sunglassed-eyes of the lifeguard.

Shit.

"Shouldn't you be, you know, guarding the pool?" Race blurts without meaning.

The guard rolls his eyes -- Race assumes this, but he can't confirm; the tinted shades are too dark to see through -- and says, "There are more than one of us. My shift ended."

"Oh," Race says. "Sorry, I'm. Sorry for the lemonade. Yeah. Uh. Sorry."

The guard tilts his head and starts to dry himself of the lemonade with towels as Race stands there dumbly and fiddles with his broken, styrofoam cup.

"I'm Spot. What's your name? "

Race swallows. "Uh, Race. Why?"

"Well, Race, if you really feel that bad about the lemonade, you can pay me back with coffee if you want..."

Because Race is Italian and, this is totally unrelated, has no filter, he asks, "As a date?"

Naturally, he immediately regrets it and starts planning his funeral. Mariana definitely can't come.

Spot simply shrugs. "That's what I was hoping for, but it doesn't have to be."

"No-" Race blurts. "I mean, yes, I will go out with you."

"Spot, can you and him go be gay somewhere else? There's a line," The guy behind the counter says.

"Oh, go kiss your boyfriend, Sling," Spot mutters. He pulls Race to the ride and hands him his phone. "Here, put your number in. I'll call you later."

"Okay," Race says. "Sounds...Good. That sounds good."

Spot winks, Race thinks, when he passes back the phone. "Catch you later, Race."

Race is alone again, $2 in the hole and his number in someone else's phone.

\--

"You were right," Race says casually later that day. They're leaving the pool, and everyone is shivering because they're morons and forgot towels.

"About?" Mariana asks.

"The lifeguard. Definitely not straight."

"Called it!" Mariana yells.

"Wait," Marcella says. "How do you know?"

Race winks.

"Anthony. I'm telling mom."

"You wouldn't."

"Yeah, you're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this sucks blame exams


	13. EpiPen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race is allergic to tree nuts. shit happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its pouring rain so i decided to post a chapter enjoy 
> 
> my powers about to go out i need to post this before i lose wifi hahahahah

You know, for all Spot’s whining and worrying about it, no one really expected to have to use Race’s epipen. 

It came as a shock at first. 

 

\--

 

_ They were sitting in the kitchen, and David was cooking. He pulled his tray of cookies out of the oven and held them out.  _

 

_ It was Sophomore year of highschool, and they were meeting for a group project. They had met a month earlier because of the same project, but they were fast friends.  _

 

_ “Who wants some?” David says. Sarah and Katherine put their hands up and grin at each other -- no one else at the table knew that they had secretly kissed in the school parking lot the day before.  _

 

_ Jack takes a couple, too, and saves some for David. Spot looks over at Race who is staring at the tray with an amused expression. Spot grabs two cookies and holds one over to Race, who pauses in his scribbling on a notepad.  _

 

_ “Want one?” Spot asks.  _

 

_ Race laughs. “Thanks, but I’d better pass.” _

_ “You sure?” Spot laughs, wiggling it in the air.  _

 

_ “As much fun as stabbing myself in the thigh with an epipen would be, I’ll pass,” Race says jokingly and goes back to his scribbling.  _

_ Everyone goes silent.  _

_ “What?” Race mutters, still not realizing that something is wrong. He looks up. Katherine has half a cookie in her mouth, and Spot’s whipped the cookie away like Race burned him.  _

_ “You’re...You’re allergic to tree nuts, aren’t you?” David asks slowly.  _

_ “Uh, yeah. Why?” Race says and he finally looks up and sees the serious expressions. “Woah, who died?” _

_ “Nearly you,” Spot says, and Race thinks he’s angry. “How could you not tell us you had a severe allergy?” _

_ “Guys,” Race laughs. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been handling it on my own since I was eight.” _

_ “You could’ve died,” David says slowly. “Oh, my god, I nearly killed you.” _

_ “Everyone needs to calm down, okay?” Race says. “It’s no big deal. Even if I decided to forget everything I’ve been taught, I have my epipen right... here.” RCe starts shuffling around in the bag near his feet. He sits up abruptly. “See? It’d be fine.” _

_ “Race.” Spot’s looking straight at Anthony. “There’s no epipen in that bag.” _

_ Race licks his lip. “Yep.” _

_ “Oh, my god. I almost killed Racetrack,” David says and walks straight into the kitchen.  _

_ “Everyone, calm down. Please.” _

 

_ \-- _

Needless to say, they never let Anthony anywhere without an epipen again. Spot may have spent half-a-week’s pay from his job at a grocery store to buy an extra pen to keep with him, just in case. Race also may not know. 

This week, however, they were all spending the weekend at Nici’s grandmother’s cottage on the sea. Her grandma, however, wasn’t aware of Race’s allergy. She was visiting with other family, but she left them pre-made food. 

This wasn’t a cause for concern until they were eating dinner on the second day and talking about the meal. It was chinese food, and no one even thought that the ingredients may have used peanut oil to cook. 

And it wasn’t until Race cleared his throat five minutes into the meal when he noticed. He didn’t realize at first, but when he did, his eyes widen. He knows that he’s fucked up  _ royally _ . 

He’s a mature seventeen-year-old. A smart, responsible teenager who knows when to ask for help. 

He pushes back his chair. 

“Excuse me,” he mutters, and they wave him away and continue talking about the movie marathon they’re planning. 

He walks out of the room and into the hallway. Thinking, he tries to remember if he brought his epipen in his toiletry bag or duffle. 

Then, he realizes that it’s in the beach bag, which is in Spot’s jeep. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Race mutters. He contemplates for a long moment to ignore it, but decides against it. Spot would kill him twice. 

He really want to Not Have This Conversation with Spot, but he’s already dizzy and his throat is swelling slightly. 

He shuffles back into the kitchen area. 

“Hey, Spot?” He calls, ignoring that his voice is slightly raspy. 

“Yeah, Tony?” Arlo says, shoving the fork into his mouth mid-sentence. 

He looks out into the room, just to avoid the fact that his lips might be slightly bluer than usual. Or at all, really. 

“Can I have your keys?”

“Uh, sure,” Spot pulls them from his pocket and turns. “Why?”

“Uh, no reason. I just need my bag.”

Spot frowns and tosses him the keys. “Yeah. Uh, again, why? You know we’re going back to the beach tomorrow, right? What’s so important in there?”

Spot turns around. “Race, what’s going on?”

“Uh, nothing, I’ll-I’ll be right back.”

He’s halfway to the door when he hears Sean’s chair sliding across the wood. 

“Anthony, we need to talk!” Spot announces swiftly, but his voice is taut with worry. 

And that’s all Race remembers before his head spins, he trips, and everything goes black. 

 

 

The next thing Race processes is that he’s in an ambulance, and someone is listing his entire medical history to EMT’s. 

There’s a hand on Race’s, and he isn't in  _ immense _ pain, so he drifts back to sleep. 

 

The next day, Race wakes up in the hospital. It takes him a moment to adjust to his settings, but once he does he glares sleepily at Spot who’s asleep in a chair near his cot. 

“Sean?” Race asks. 

Spot shoots up and looks at Race with concern. 

“How do you feel?”

“Fine. But, uh, how did you get in here?”

Spot scoffs. “Of  _ course _ you don’t remember me valiantly calling 911. Or valiantly sticking a needle in you. Or arguing with your family over the phone over your recent medical history -- I was right, by the way. And  _ then _ waiting valiantly in your room for you to wake up.”

“ _ Spot _ , how’d you get in  _ here _ ? It’s family only, usually...Not that I’m, like, mad, just confused.”

“Ah, about that. They think we’re dating.”

“Naturally,” Race laughs.

 

“Oh, I wouldn't laugh. As soon as you're out of here I'm drowning you in the ocean.”

 

“ _ Shit _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment!!!


	14. silence in the apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was given the prompt of angst. enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am getting to all the other prompts !! i promise!!!!

  
their apartment is quiet most days.

spot doesn't notice the difference. abrupt as it was, spot doesn't notice most things anymore.

his shoes are still haphazardly flung by the couch where spot threw them before he collapsed. he doesn't remember getting up after that day.

the only noise that spot hears most days now is that of his own uneven breathing. sometimes he wishes for even that to cease.

his keys stay in the little bowl that is kept by the fridge. after it happened, spot doesn't like driving.

tears are a gift that only people with something left to lose are afforded; spot has not cried.

how does one recover from the loss of something so profound? how can wounded veterans move forward with loss of limb? spot would ask them, but he hasn't spoken in months.

why is it so hard to find someone, something to want to hold on to, but so easy to lose it? one wrong word, one fatal move. one drunk driver.

spot's apartment is quiet most days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha how was it ?


	15. his name is spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot is trans, and he tells his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY  
> THIS WAS A PROMPT I GOT A MONTH AGO  
> IT WAS THE FIRST PROMPT INRECIEVED  
> AND IDK WHY INHAVENT DONE IT UNTIL NOW
> 
> IM S O R R Y

To say Spot was nervous would be a lie.

He could feel his heart beat in his chest, and his veins tingled. His limbs felt useless and he couldn't think.

Spot wasn't nervous; he was _terrified_.

And it was all because _he_ used to go by _she_.

He knows what kind of world they live in. It's 2017, and Race is an activist, for fucks sake! He shouldn't be nervous. Terrified.

But, he is, because he's about to tell his boyfriend of three months that he's transgender.

Most people would be confused as to how Race wouldn't know yet. The answer is that Anthony Higgins is asexual, and Spot's _area_ isn't much concern to him.

However, they're going to the beach today, and Spot is going to need to do some explaining. He hasn't had top surgery, so he's going to need a real good excuse to get out of putting a suit on.

Then, his sister Missy threatened to murder him if he wore his binder in the water, and Spot figures it's time to tell Race.

So, now Spot is waiting at a cafe for Race. It's in the middle of their campus, so he should be here soon.

The door to the small, overpriced cafe has a little bell over top. Whenever a new customer comes in, it chimes happily and alerts everyone to its new guest.

Spot has never been more scared of a bell that sounds so much like a fairy from a children's movie.

Maybe, Spot realizes, he isn't as tough as he seems.

Or maybe Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins is just an amazing human being, and Spot is terrified of losing him.

How soon is too soon to know you love someone?

No. Scratch that. Spot doesn't need to deal with _that_ shit right now.

The bell from hell rings, and Spot leaps out of his skin. He turns slightly to see his boyfriend waltzing toward him like he owns the place. Spot wouldn't be surprised at this point. Race is an _enigma_.

Race is a supernova, even as he leaves he's brighter than the entire universe. He lit a fire in Spot, as cliche as it is, and Spot's afraid he's grown dependent on its warmth.

Spot is so fucking terrified.

"Hey, Spot," Race greets with a grin as he sits. "You wanted to talk?"

Spot clears his throat. "Ah, yeah. There's- I gotta..."

Race's smile loses its glow. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"What? No. No, no, no," Spot says with a single breath. He inhales. "I just. I need you to be aware of something."

Race exhales. "Okay, great. Is everything alright?"

Spot can't bring himself to nod.

"I...Well, I'm not sure how to tell you this. I'm...Trans. I'm Transgender."

"Oh," Race says and adds more sugar to his coffee. "Okay. Cool."

Spot stares. "Wait, what?"

Race tilts his head like a confused puppy. "Do you want me to not be okay with it?"

"Well, no."

Race take a bite out of Spot's untouched muffin and speaks through the chewed food. "Then what's the issue?"

"Pleasantly surprised, I guess," Spot says calmly, but he's crying and cheering and alive on the inside.

"Kath is trans," Race says. "So's Dave and Blue. Why'd it be an issue with you? I've literally got a Tumblr called ' _respectourpronouns_ '."

"It's different to date a trans person, I guess," Spot says after a moment of thinking.

"Nah." Race shakes his head. "We will have an issue if you try to wear your binder in the water. Sling's yelled at Blue enough for it for me to know that it can't be good."

"Uh, yeah," Spot says. "You're not supposed to exercise or anything with 'em on. Water is fine, but they're expensive and can get damaged."

Race shrugs. "Ask Dave or Blue. They may have an old one you can wear."

Spot sighs. "Thank you, Race."

"Anything," Race says. "Now pass over some more muffin; I'm hungry and we've got a long drive ahead of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope it was worth the wait !!
> 
> this can also be to celebrate me coming out as agender to my irl friends this morning at 1am. i still use she/her, so it wasn't a big deal, but Anxiety™ ya know? 
> 
> but also binders are fucking expensive don't wear them in the water unless you're sure they can survive it smh like i know some brands (gc2b) are okay with water but you can never be too sure 
> 
> anyhow, hope you enjoyed it !!!


	16. the higgins-conlon household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was given the prompt for domestic established relationship. sorry, this is short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tuning out of room in the summary, so i'm going to start only saying the latest chapters in it. maybe ill make a table of contents for a new first chapter. who knows.

Spot rolls over in bed, and the first thing he sees is his husband hogging the blanket.

"Tony," He groans. "Move over."

Race doesn't stir.

Spot throws his arm behind his head and tugs out his pillow. He glares at his spouse of two years and hits him in the face with a pillow.

This gets him up.

"Sean, what the hell?" Race mutters through a pillow.

"You're hogging the bed," Spot says. "Move over."

Race shakes his head. "Nu-uh. I need to meet with my parents today; that means I get to hog the bed."

Spot shakes his head. "As valid as an excuse that would be, your parents are lovely and supporting, and we're both going to meet them."

"You're impossible," Race states.

"I'm impossible?" Spot says. "I'm definitely not making you breakfast."

This causes Race to sit up so suddenly a pillow flys from his face onto the ground.

"Wait," Race says. "Don't do this."

"It's too late. Racey is going to have to make his own food," Spot says, oddly proud of himself.

Race leans towards Spot's lips and softens his eyes. Spot pulls away.

"You can't bribe me," Spot says. "I'm going to enjoy making one meal this morning."

Race groans and falls back into a pile of pillows.

Spot chuckles and smiles fondly at his husband.

"Up and at 'em, Tony. We need to meet your parents for lunch in four hours. I'm sure you'll spend all that time trying to make something edible for breakfast."

"Fuck you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! i'm in need of a few more prompts. i still have a few left to do, but i'm running out!!


	17. snowed in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get snowed in. stuff happens. 
> 
> not sex tho lmao i'm ace sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy~
> 
> also read end notes

 

A year ago this would've been fine. A month ago this wouldn't have been a big deal. A week ago, this would've been funny.

Now, however, Spot is definitely not laughing.

"Spot," Race whines. "We're not going to make it. We might as well just stay another night."

The two of them, and just the two of them, took a road trip to the mountains and rented a cabin for the week.

Then, Spot understood why the others whistled. He realized that, yeah, he might be in love with his best friend.

So, naturally, he wants to get the fuck out of there and sit in his dorm and wallow in self pity. He definitely does not want to sit with Race in a cozy cabin, in the middle of a blizzard.

Naturally, it's a Tuesday.

Spot peers out the window, his duffle over his shoulder. "No, we can make it back if we hurry."

Race frowns. "We're hours from the city. Classes don't start for three more days anyways. We're still on holiday break. What's the rush?"

 _If I stay in the same room as you for one more second, I'm either going to kiss you or kill you_ , Spot promises in his head. He doesn't know which would be more preferable.

Race waves his phone in Spot's face. "Look, the roads are closed. You're going to get us killed if we try to drive back."

Spot sighs. "Let's just wait for it to pass. Then, we'll hit the road."

"Right," Race mutters. "Let's just wait for the fucking blizzard to pass, deficiente."

Spot wishes he took Italian instead of French as his high school language credit. Then, maybe, Race would make sense to him.

Spot sighs and looks at the anxious look on Race's face for the first time in a while. Shit.

"Look, you wanna wait for the roads to clear?" Spot says. "Fine. One more night."

Race sighs with relief, and Spot hates himself for not regretting it.

Without ceremony, Spot dumps his bag onto the floor of the small cabin and walks back over to the old, green couch. He throws himself onto it and pulls out his phone.

He goes through his texts as Race settles onto the fireplace. The cabin has two rooms. One is a bathroom, and the other is everything else. There's a bunk bed in one corner, and a small kitchen in the other. Against one wall is a fireplace and couches.

 _Jack: there's a storm coming in. be careful. maybe wait for it to pass_  
Jack: lmao wait dave says it's a blizzard haha see you six feet under  
Jack: i'm apologizing bc dave made me

_David: Hey, ignore Jack. It's going to storm really badly, so don't try to drive back.  
David: How's Race? He's quiet in the group chat._

_Blue: Ignore any and all texts from sling  
Blue: Please_

_Sling: wanna help me kill blue?_

Spot sighs and responds to Sling.

_Spot: wtf why  
Spot: bf get on your nerves??_

_Sling: not dating  
Sling: he's been wearing his binder for 12 hrs_

_Spot: fucking moron wait til i'm back ill beat his ass_

_  
Spot: you little shit_

_Blue: Ugh, knock it off_

_Spot: you trying to end up in the hospital??_

_Blue: No_

_Spot: then fucking take off your binder_

_Blue: ~Dysphoria~_

_Spot: spots bra. sweatshirt. something. like man i'm sorry you feel that way but let's not put a hospital bill on top of that_

_Spot: don't leave me on read, fucker, i'm texting sling_

_Blue: Wait_

_  
Spot: how far away are you from blue_

_Sling: were both in our dorm. he's hiding under his blanket and won't listen to me._

_Spot: he will now._

_Sling: ill try talking to him._

_Sling: okay, getting somewhere_

_Sling: thanks, spot_

_Spot: go kiss your boyfriend_

_Sling: not dating_

_Spot: yeah sure_

_Sling: don't be all mr high and mighty race just asked me why you're avoiding him_

_Spot: shit_

_Sling: figured it out, have we?_

_Spot: whoops going under a tunnel bye_

_Sling: haha talk to you later. (1. i know you haven't left. 2. if you had, you'd be driving. you won't let race drive in this shit)_

_Spot: asshole_

Race sighs, and pulls Spot from his phone.

"Why do I have texts from Sling about Blue?"

"He didn't want to take his binder off when he should've," Spot answers monotonously. "Ignore them, I swore at Blue until he'd listen to Sling."

"Okay," Race says. "Hey, Spot?"

"Yeah?" Spot says shortly, wanting to launch himself into the fireplace.

"Are you avoiding me? Because I asked Dave and Sling and those guys if they knew why, and they're being cryptic."

Spot sighs. "If I was avoiding you, this would be a shit job of it."

"Yeah," Race says softly.

Spot sits up and looks over at him. "No, Race, don't worry. I'm not avoiding you."

Race smiles but doesn't look convinced. "Okay."

\--

An hour later, and both are on their phones, when the power goes out. It flickers first, but then it doesn't come back on.

"Shit," Spot says. Phone battery: 13%.

Race curses in Italian. "This is wonderful. Just wonderful."

It's 3:48P.M., but the clouds outside make it feel later. Not even the bright white specks flying down from the sky brighten anything.

"Guess we should find more blankets," Spot says. Oh, right. All the stuff they'd brought is locked in a car. To get to it, they'd have to treck through snow for half a mile until they reached the road.

The only ones they have are the thin fleeces on the beds. Spot tosses one to Race and keeps one for himself.

Race catches it with a smile and puts it down while he lights a few candles.

"What a way to start the new year, huh?" Race mutters.

You have no idea.

\--

They're both next to each other, arms around shoulders and legs tangled.

The two fleeces are wrapped around them, but they do little for warmth.

After three hours of watching Race shiver on his own under a thin blanket, Spot moved over to him and suggested they sit next to each other. Body heat, and all. He swears he has no ulterior motive. Really.

"You've been avoiding me," Race says matter-of-factly. "Despite what you say, I know you."

Spot bristles and pulls away slightly.

Race turns to face him.

"What did I do?" He says. "Really, you're my best friend. I should know what's wrong."

Spot decides, fuck it, if he's going to lose his best friend, he'd rather do it sooner than later. Less apprehension.

"I love you," Spot says.

Race frowns. "Yeah, I know. I love you, too. You're my best friend. But, really, what's wrong?"

Spot sighs. "No, moron. That's not what I meant. You know...You know all those things everyone jokes about. Us getting married and stuff?"

"Yeah...?" Race says. "Does it bother you or something?"

If only.

"No," A sigh, "I-Anthony, I'm in love with you. And I just realized it now."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Spot says. He can't bring himself to look at Race's face. "Sorry."

"For?" Race says. "Thank god it's mutual, or this would be a lot more awkward."

Race presses his lips to Spot's, and Spot is so genuinely exploding with warmth and heat and love that he swears he doesn't need the blankets or fire anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS 
> 
> first off, oh my god i never thought i could write something that's almost at 100 comments. jesus i'm in shock. my writing is terrible but y'all are lovely. 
> 
> second, i may take a break from this. idk. i could be back in an hour, or week. keep commenting prompts and shit tho!!! love y'all!! 
> 
> date: 6/21/17 1:25pm eastern


	18. please read!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!

hey y'all! i'm working on a new chapter, but i'm taking my time with it and i don't know when it'll be posted. i actually have a question for y'all, though. 

1\. what chapter so far is your favorite and why?  
2\. What do you like about my writing?  
3\. What don't you like about my writing?

Constructive criticism, please!!! I just want to improve and yeah. Thanks!!

love y'all!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please answer the questions, if you don't mind!! i just really want to improve my writing!!!
> 
> thanks y'all!!


	19. an inside look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An inside look at Sling and Blue, Brooklyn, and an outside snippet of Spot and Race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SPOT AMD RACE FROM AN OUTSIDE POV BUT  
> IDK  
> THIS HAPPENED  
> IM SORRY
> 
>  
> 
> oh,   
> also thnk you all so much for commenting on the last chapter!!!! i rEALLY appreciate it!!!!!!!!




Sling rolls over on the tiny bunk in Brooklyn, nearly elbowing Blue in the face.

The Brooklyn bunk house is massive, but still not big enough for everyone to have their own bunk. Naturally, Sling and Blue share.

You know, at first they shared because they were around each other a lot. Blue is Brooklyn’s second command, and Sling is fourth. It was expected that they became friends.

Then, well, their dynamic changed. Cliche as it was, one meeting in an alleyway later, and they were as together as you could be in their situation. The only one who knows about them is Spot, and that’s because he accidentally stumbled upon a make out session.

It’s not all physical, not even close. They truly care about each other. Since ‘dating’ wasn’t a thing at the time, they were about as close as you can get to modern day boyfriends. Though, like couples of the era and some present day, they were also as closeted as one could get.

But, they make do.

Sling glares at the sleeping face of Blue. Sling is not one against sleeping in, but he knows that Blue was supposed to leave before sunrise to do a job for Spot.

“Blue,” Sling says, elbowing the taller boy in the stomach. He doesn't respond “Harv. Harvey.”

Blue swats him away and rolls over.

Sling, in response, shoves him off the bed.

From the pile of blankets and sheets collapsed on the floor, Blue whispers, “Sling, what the hell are you doing? You coulda woken everyone up.”

He’s right. No one else needs to be up for another hour at least.

“Doesn’t Spot need you or somethin’?” Sling, or Louis, asks.

Blue shoots up, and the sheets fall off his head. “Shit. Oh, fuck, I’m late.”

As if in a panic, Blue is on his feet, shoving his boots on his feet and his outer layers on.

Sling collapses back into the bottom bunk. “Calm down. You’re not that late. It’s, like, four still.”

Blue whips around to Sling, exasperated. “I need to be in Queens before six, Louis. It’s a three hour walk.”

Sling sits up, using his elbows to prop himself up. “Why’s you going to Queens? That can’t be safe.”

“Spot wants me to talk to Chow,” Blue says. “And I really need to go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Can’t I come?” Sling asks.

Blue glances at him. “Stay in Brooklyn. I’ll be fine.”

Sling falls back into bed and lets out a breathy exhale.

“I guess,” Sling says, but Blue’s already gone.

  
Sling finally wakes up an hour later with everyone else. He tries to ignore his worry about Blue, but the only thing that works is distracting himself. He helps the youngest newsies get up and ready, find them older newsies to sell with, and sends them all out. Dinner is served in the Lodge, but everything else is free for all.

Spot stop him just before he goes to sell for himself.

“Blue left, right?” Spot says, his Brooklyn accent thick.

Sling nods. “Around four, yeah.’E woke up late.”

“Alright,” Spot sighs. “Race and a few Manhattan’s are coming over tonight to play cards. I need you there to make sure there’s no trouble.”

If Blue was here, him and Sling would share a look at Spot’s mention of Race. Both of them know that there’s something not being told.

But, Blue isn’t here, so Sling simply sighs.

“When should they be here?” Sling asks.

“Five?” Spot says. “Whenever they sell their papers and head over.”

Sling stumbles through the morning, only the thought of seeing Blue at lunch and Spot and Race pretend to not be all over each other distracts him.

Finally lunch rolls around, and Sling practically cries. Blue is his best friend by right, and an important Brookyn newsie. Brooklyn needs Blue; Sling needs Blue.

Blue has somehow always been better at separation, though, so when he strolls up to Blue with a cola and grin, Sling isn’t surprised.

“Did you eat yet?” Sling asks without preamble. Blue knows better than to lie to him about this, so he shakes his head. Sling counts out a few coins in his pockets and grins. “Just enough for four meals.”

Blue rolls his eyes. “Let's start with two, how about?”

Sling agrees, and they set off.

The rest of the day is much quicker with Blue back at his rightful placeat Sling’s side. They’re Sling and Blue again, Louis and Harvey, Lou and Harv. Everything is good.

Nothing’s great. They’re sixteen year old workers in the middle of an era of child labor. Blue’s parents caused his nickname (black and blue), and Sling’s parents are dead. Blue is half Portuguese in an unaccepting country, and Sling is from Ireland. Their lives, for lack of a better word, suck.

But, they have each other, so everything is good.

Louis tightens his arm around Harvey's shoulder, and Harvey pretends not to have noticed.

When the time rolls around for Race and the Manhattan Newsies arrive, Spot is bouncing on his toes.

“Nervous, Conlon?” Sling scoffs. Blue adjusts his arms on the rail overlooking the dock and sea to laugh and look at Sling.

“Oh, but, Sling, this is Spot Conlon. He doesn’t get nervous.”

“You’re right, Harv,” Sling says. “How could I have forgotten?”

Blue grins and looks back at the water. “Memory of a goldfish?”

“You little-!” Sling says, and pulls Blue close to him to ruffle his hair. Blue laughs and half-heartedly tries to get away.

Spot scoffs. “You’re going to fall into da water,” He says. “Knock it off. They’re nearly here.”

“Wouldn’t want to be unimpressive,” Leaf, third in command says.

When Race, Jack, Crutchie, Boots, Mush, Blink, Itey, Skittery, Specs, Romeo, and Bumlets stroll into Brooklyn that night, Spot is ready.

For all of them, I mean. He wasn’t worried about impressing Race or anything. That’d be stupid…?

Spot shakes his head and invites everyone to sit at crates in a circle around a make-shift table.

“Let the games begin,” Race snorts. “Conlon, I hope your boys are ready to lose.”

“I hope you learn to swim,” Spot retorts.

Sling and Blue share a look. Some things never change.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i'm back  
> yeah told you it wouldn't be a while. i'm not gonna post as frequently, mainly bc i don't have like any prompts left. lmao. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed the oc's that i shove down your throats. 
> 
> bye~


	20. one night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> racetrack higgins is a gambler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy~

racetrack higgins was a gambler.

there are no excuses or explanations; there is no room for argument. he knows this fact. trust me, he's well aware.

he excelled at counting cards, manipulating people, and schooling his facial expressions into nothing.

his favorite pastime was betting away his life, sometimes failing to win it back. no matter how much he lost, how little he had left, he always came crawling back to the tables, the casinos, anywhere, with his pennies and scraps.

anthony higgins was the most filled with life when he was losing it. he watched with glee as his bets were placed. he was ecstatic at the fact that he could make or break, win or lose, live or die. just because of a single roll of dice.

racetrack higgins was a gambler, but there was one thing he thought he would never bet.

sean "spot" conlon, his soulmate. call them what you will: soulmates, boyfriends, best friends. they were the better parts of the other; they were inseparable.

spot was always there to pick race up once he fell from his nirvana, when he crashed. spot was always there.

then, race got ahead of himself. he got drunk, stupidly so, and he lost himself. he got so drunk, he destroyed himself without lifting a finger against his body.

he cheated on the person who once would've held up the world for him, no matter the cost. he got drunk, messy, and stupid, but he still broke whatever spot and he had in a single night.

race bet his own life, unknowingly, when he lifted the first glass bottle that night, and the cards were not in his favor.

racetrack higgins was a gambler, but he's never understood the danger of that statement until he had nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo hope you enjoy i'm walking through a grocery store and writing this haha
> 
> and oh my god i love how y'all are like 'lowercase for angst' when in reality i am just lazy and lowercase is my aesthetic


	21. tortilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot has fucked up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asked my wife (kidding i am 15) for an angst prompt and she said "WHO ATE THE LAST TORTILLA" so here you go

The apartment was quiet, and that’s Spot’s first hint that he needs to rethink his life.

He couldn’t hear feet walking on cool tile, or laughter coming from the kitchen. The TV wasn’t on, and this is odd.

Not bad, necessarily, but unusual. Their apartment is the very definition of life. It’s their stamp of existence on this tiny, forgotten planet. You’ve got Spot’s old football picture on one wall next to Race's award-winning painting. You have a mixture of Italian food from Race's childhood recipes and gourmet food from Spot’s cooking phase in the fridge.

The living room is cluttered with mix-match couches and wedding photos from last year and shoes. So, so many shoes. It has empty CD cases stacked on others, waiting to be filled. They’ve got windows overlooking the busy, bustling, living city.

What they don’t have, apparently, is its other occupant.

“Tony?" Spot calls, setting his briefcase down. He’s just gotten back from work, and Race is seemingly nowhere to be found. Race, on the other hand, is an artist and he works from their studio, which is attached to the apartment. "Where are you?"

At this point in the day, Spot will usually arrive home to a loud apartment as Race plans his next work and blasts whatever is his new favorite type of music. However, it’s silent today.

“Anthony?" Spot tries again. He also tries to ignore the coil of worry and fear turning in him, to no avail. It’s a bit of an overreaction, yes, but Race is always at the door bouncing with excitement and news of his latest art craze.

Spot removes his shoes and walks into the apartment. He peers again into the empty living room: nothing. He checks the hallway and the bathroom: nothing. He checks their bedroom: again, nothing.

Just as he’s about to go check the studio, he hears a noise from the kitchen and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Ant?" Spot says. “Couldn't you hear me? I was calling for you."

He crosses the threshold from hallway to kitchen and finds his husband slumped on the floor, staring blankly into the fridge. The fridge, on the other hand, has been opened for so long that the light has turned off.

"What’re you doing?" Spot says curiously. "Is everything okay?"

"No, _Sean_ ," Race uncharacteristically bites. "Everything's not okay."

Spot sits next to him. "Hun, what’s wrong?"

"What’s wrong?" Race exclaims. "You know what you’ve done. Now I have to starve, Sean. _Starve_."

Spot now knows two things.

  1. He’s fucked up, somehow

  2. His husband is a fucking dork




"What did I do?" Spot says. "Remind me, for old time's sake."

Race gestures wildly. "You ate the last tortilla, for god's sake! I was going to make it for a snack, but it’s gone!"

Spot sighs. “Ant, it’s a tortilla. I can go run to the store and get more."

"It’d be the least you could do," Race sniffs. "But, I mean, we could always go to that new taco place. I haven’t seen you all day…"

Spot kisses Race's temple; he stands before helping Race to his feet.

"I missed you, too," Spot says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah hope you enjoyed   
> thank my 'wife' if you did 
> 
>  
> 
> YELL AT ME ON TUMBLR:
> 
> [ @CalciumSulfide ](https://calciumsulfide.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or just say hi!!


	22. white carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahhahahaha

__

* * *

a white carnation symbolizes luck and love, but that's not all.

see, a symbol doesn't have to have a defined meaning. a symbol can be small, known to very few.

a white carnation, a single delicate flower, was so much more to two people than these words on a page.

a white carnation is handed to a shorter boy by a taller. they are young, not even old enough to understand what it means, but the shorter boy blushes and his laughter resonates in the hearts of all who hear it.

a white carnation is passed between the two as they sit in the grass, years later.

'do you remember?' one asked. 'you gave me one of these flowers, years ago.'

'did i?' the other responds carelessly; this is the taller, and he is shaking. not with nostalgia but with fear, because he does remember the flower but he now understands it's weight. he now knows that he meant it before he understood why. 'i don't remember.'

a white carnation is passed to the taller boy for once, only a month after the previous time. the shorter one blushes like he did so long ago and asks with a voice that is soft but not, in any way, quiet, 'do you want to remember?'

the carnation is held in a vise-like grip as the taller one breathes the tension from his shoulder as if it was dirt, moving to compensate the water rushing around it, and nods.

'yes,' he says, a careful whisper.

four revolutions around the sun pass, providing more light and growth of more carnations. other flowers grow, of course, but if that was relevant the title would be 'life', perhaps. it's not, so you can ignore this.

four revolutions, sad and happy and melancholy and wonderful revolutions pass by, and two boys stand in front of all their friends and families.

'i do,' one says, fiddling with the carnation tucked in his jacket.

'i do,' the other responds, taking the others hand in his and locking them together.

years pass, and flowers collect. despite the busy schedules and lives, white carnations build around their life like a safety net. they are surrounded by them, but neither seem to mind.

one day, however, there is only one flower. one white carnation, placed delicately onto an oak surface.

tears are shed, tissues used, but there is only one white carnation. there is only one boy left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like i don't post much!? i don't get as much comments as i used to get recently (which sounds vain but i promise i'm nOt) so i got worried and just. stopped. 
> 
> anyhow. i'm writing this shitty novel thing but like one of my characters had a white carnation? and i was gonna write about them. and this happened. i really hope it was good.


	23. fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another poetry/prose thingy. enjoy~

chemicals combust in the air, showering the sky with flurries of light and mystery. some are loud, reminding your ear drums just how powerful they can be.

the sound resonates in your skull like a heart beat that never fades. it's the beat of a butterflies wings' as it soars, and the footsteps of a child running along a path. it thunders out of your memory as soon as the next supernova crosses over the horizon.

the reflection of the explosions on the lake's rough surface distorts the color, but it's still as beautiful. maybe even more so, if you believe that beauty is what you make of it.

two people sit on a hill top, overlooking the display. one sits taller than the other, enveloping them in their shadow. there are tangled legs and arms slung over shoulders.

laughter fades as the night moves on, making way for something quieter, more intimate. the arms around shoulders move down to waists and torsos; heads rest on chests.

bursting conversation morphs into whispers in ears and phrases shared between bursts. colors and sounds are discussed in passing, but for the most part they talk without speaking. a moment of eye contact can convey lifetimes of words.

there's a pause, and all attention is on the sky. fireworks burst like gunshots and are launched from all sides of the lake. for the sky, the night is coming to an end and this is its finale.

the explosions from earlier are increased tenfold and laughter returns. hands are placed jokingly over cold ears as the sound increases, and hearts are exposed as ash drifts from the sky.

after a final show of what seems like magic, but is simply chemicals and a flame, the final sparks heed to gravity's call and fall onto the now darkened lake.

smoke fades into the distance, an echo of what once was.

the waves jump in the moonlight, skipping over each other like a rock on a river. some collide and grow; others collide and are diminished. this is the science of nature.

the reflection of the moon is prominent among these waves. it is broken into pieces as its light is split by crests of waves. the pieces are spread like broken stars, waiting to be put back together when the water calms.

knowing nature -- destructive and gorgeous and raw as it is -- this will never happen.

two silhouettes are sitting on the grass of the overgrown hill, watching as time passes. there is no light other than from the sky, and they are alone.

blood flows through a network of veins and vessels, all of it pumping quickly. it's a supernova of life within a single human body. cells duplicate and deliver nutrients. oxygen is absorbed. hair blows in the wind, yielding to physics, and vocal cords rest.

all while two people sit in silence.

a glance is shared, an agreement, and bones pop as the couple stand shakily. rusty from disuse they stumble to their car as if walking on broken class; they clutch each other for support and laugher echoes off the water as they trek the hill.

shoelaces from the shorter's shoes fail and come undone. they trip carelessly and tumble into the grass, pulling the taller underneath them to cushion the fall.

they lie for a second, breathless. oxygen is inhaled and converted into carbon dioxide an inch from another body doing the same.

a stray firework lights the sky, bursting with color that changes as it burns. red, gold, then white. the line of color cascades down to the water as if drawn with a shaky hand.

the gap between the silhouettes closes; lips meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **plz read!!**  
>  okay, so i got a lot of sling/blue prompts yesterday!! so i wrote 3 things for them!! should i post them individually? or as one chapter with dividers. 
> 
> anyhow, thank you so much for reading!! it's 4th of july rn and i wrote this while looking at fireworks, so i mean ,, i tried i was a bit distracted


	24. s&b - sling and blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 sling/blue moments, not in any particular order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so happy to get sling/blue prompt so i did all the ones i got whOOPS~

Blue shoulders his sash, which he uses to fill with newspapers so he can sell them. Sling is at his side, as usual, and he buys one-hundred papers for both of them.

"Where to today?" Sling asks over the noise. The both share a smile as Spot helps a younger, newer newsie. "Sap," Sling mutters.

"He's good with the kids," Blue shrugs. "And we technically don't have a post. Usually Spot has us scouting, but not today, apparently."

Blue says this with joking bite. Spot was too preoccupied this morning to give them assignments, and they both agreed that a day off was good.

They walk step-in-step, both of their warn boots hitting the pavement at the same time. Sling's button up is ripped at the top, and Blue has a hole in the knee of his pants. He's got a cap pulled over his hair, shielding his tanned Portuguese skin from the sun. Sling simply lets his pale Irish skin simmer in the heat with a dignified shrug.

A few hours pass, and they end up in the middle of Brooklyn with only a few papers left. They're not high in the Brooklyn hierarchy for nothing. Selling papers is their life -- literally. It's their blood and guts, it's their bread and butter. It's them.

A familiar face interrupts Sling's concentration of selling a paper to a young man. The hairline is similar, and so are the eyes, but he can't quite place it.

Except, the man he was selling a paper to moves, and he looks into the man's tanned face and it's all clear. He's seeing Blue in this older man's face.

Blue, the teen in question, shrinks behind Sling slightly as the man approaches.

"One paper," His deep voice says, and Sling doesn't like where this is going. The man's face settles on Blue's, and Sling is on edge already. The man's eyes narrow and he suddenly lets out a deep, booming laugh. "Oh. Hello, Harvey."

The man lets out a hiccup, as if he's drunk. Sling can actually smell the alcohol on him from where he stands, a yard or two away.

Blue stiffens from behind Sling, and Sling knows that this is Blue's father. Blue doesn't respond, so Elias (as Sling knows his name to be from Blue's not-so-sober rants about the man and his wife, and Sling also remembers how he always clenched his fists tightly at hearing what Blue went through) does.

"You know," Elias laughs a laugh that makes Sling reconsider his promise not to start fights. "I would've thought you'd've gotten your'elf killed before now, you little runt."

Blue laughs now, coldly. Sling wishes he could say that he's never heard it before, but it brings up memories from when Blue first met him and became a newsie. When Blue showed up, covered in bruises at age eight, and only talked to Sling.

He steps out from behind Sling and shoves a paper to the man's chest roughly. It's been eight years since they've seen each other, Sling realizes.

"You need to pay for that," Blue says monotonously.

Elias chuckles. "What? No family deal?"

"We're not family," Blue says; Elias shifts. He takes a step towards Blue, and Sling reacts by tugging Blue back.

"I can handle him," Blue says, tugging his wrist from Sling's vise like grip.

Elias coughs. "Tough now are we?"

Blue starts to walk away; he seems to give up. Just as Sling goes to follow, Elias grabs Blue's collar and shoves him roughly against a bricked building.

"You think you 'an talk to me like that, boy?" Elias asks, shaking Blue. Sling is ready to throw punches, but Blue reacts.

He spits in his father's -- biologically only -- face. While Elias is groaning and wiping the saliva from his eyes, Blue kicks him in the shin and shoves him away.

"Leave me alone," Blue says to him. "You are not my father. We are not family. Pass the message onto mother if you'd like, see if I care. I'm surprised you're sober enough for this conversation. Now, you're going to leave me alone, or I swear to you that you will regret it."

Elias chuckles. "Don't come cryin' back to the house when you get hurt."

"It's been eight years," Blue says and his eyes are made of fire and his words of ice. "I have a new home."

Blue is done being a punching bag. He is done being used. He can stand up for himself, but he has people to help him if he stumbles. He doesn't need this drunk from Portugal to help him survive because he is already alive. Harvey is dead. Harvey is a name that only Sling can use.

He's Blue now.

And Blue is going to be alright.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Sling walks into the Brooklyn lodging a little worse for wear. He's limping, and his face is bloodied. His ribs hurt like he's being stabbed with a needle over and over again in the same spot once it scabs over.

He doesn't know where Blue is, he doesn't know where the first aid kit is, but most of all he just really hates Queens.

"What the fuck," Blue says from  
behind him. He tests a few smiles before turning, labeling them all as painful, and tries not to look tired when he turns.

"Hey, Harv," Sling says. "Little help? Do you know where Spot put the first aid kit?"

Blue tosses his bag onto their bunk and starts carefully leading him to the bathroom, muttering as he goes.

"What happened, Lou?" Blue says. "This is insane. I only came back for water...If I didn't..."

"Queens. Tried to relay a message from Spot; they did not appreciate it," Sling tries for humor.

"Sling...," Blue says. "This is insane."

Sling shrugs. "Now you know how I feel when you get injured doing something stupid."

Blue rolls his eyes and opens the bathroom door. "You idiot. Feel free to remind me of that at a better time."

"Sure thing," Sling says.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
One second, the two of them are alone in the bathroom of the lodge. The next, they're no longer refilling the medical kit, but Sling is pushing Blue against the wall and kissing him firmly.

"What if --" Blue starts. "What if someone comes in?"

"It's the middle of the day. They're all selling. Now shush," Sling says not unkindly. "I can stop if you want me to."

A hand at Blue's hip and another in his hair makes him shake his head and turn down the idea. "No, I-I'm good."

"Just lemme know," Sling says considerately, but immediately goes back to kissing Blue.

Then, the door opens.

Blue is standing against the dark blue walls, as Sling melts over him. Blue's arms are around Sling's neck, and Sling's and messing up Blue's hair. It's fairly obvious what they're doing.

Spot walks in, jumps, and immediately leaves, letting the door slam loudly behind him.

The two of them jolt apart as if burned, and Sling is exhales to catch his breath while Blue is already freaking out.

"Oh, god -- Sling, that was Spot. We're dead, oh Jes-"

Blue is stared by Sling's hand on his.

"Hey," Sling says. "Look at me. Breathe. Inhale, exhale. There you go, just like that."

The door opens again; Spot steps in and his face his blank.

He locks the door, and Sling is on the defense.

"Look, it was-" Sling starts, but Spot stops him.

"I shoulda known," Spot says. "I know you to. This," he sighs. "It's not ideal, obviously. Anyone could've caught you."

Blue isn't calming down at the immediate lack of blood spilt, however.

"Blue," Spot says and Sling stands frozen in fear. "Breathe. I'm not here to soak ya, okay? You's just need to be more careful. Not everyone will be so lenient. And if this affects your jobs, we will be having another discussion. You hears me?"

Blue lets out a sob. Sling reacts unconsciously, pulling the slightly taller boy into his arms in an effort to calm him down. He only glances at Spot with hesitation once he's already embraced Blue.

"I'll bring him some water," Spot says, taking his leave. "And learn how to lock a door, will ya?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!!!


	25. raceyhuggins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chat fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not fuckin sorry

_raceyhuggins added santehey, themouth, theking, s.jones, noimnotaplumbershutup, kblink, mushedpotatoes, and crutchie! to the chat_

_raceyhuggins has named the chat: losers im bored halp_

_noimnotaplumbershutup has renamed the chat: Hey, ass, you spelled help wrong_

_raceyhuggins: wow kath. r0de_

_s.jones: that's ma girl_

_noimnotaplumbershutup: My*_

_s.jones: fuck you_

_s.jones has renamed the chat: kathy is mean_

_themouth: Is no one going to mention that it's three A.M., and you're all awake?_

_santahey: davey wth why are you awake whatt_

_s.jones: i can hear you kissing from here???_

_kblink: Guys. Wtf. Why._

_mushedpotatoes: i'm not saying i'm going to kill you but yeah i'm going to kill all of you_

_raceyhuggins: i'm b o r e d_

_crutchie!: Race, why don't you talk to Spot?? He's usually up!!_

_theking: He tried to make a bet and I told him to fuck off_

_raceyhuggins: ^^_

_s.jones: okay okay trouble in paradise the bf's are fighting whatever i'm more concerned about what just happened in dave's room_

_raceyhuggins: finally, some drama_

_themouth: Nothing, just dropped something!_

_santahey: HE SNEEZED WHILE HE WERE MAKING OUT_

_themouth: ..._

_santahey: AND I FELL OFF THE BED_

_noimnotaplumbershutup: Too early for caps._

_s.jones: i agree with kath_

_mushedpotatoes: you're biased_

_s.jones: i am not_

_noimnotaplumbershutup: Bade, were dating._

_s.jones: shit u rite_

_raceyhuggins: guys i'm bored again stop being gay and help_

_santahey: annoy your boyfriend i'm trying to kiss mine._

_raceyhuggins: i'm single?_

_theking: Sorry, I was talking to Missy_   
_theking: What'd I miss_

_kblink: i've never been happier about timing_

_crutches!: Oh, my gosh!! Spot, that's so funny!_

_theking: The fuck are you talking about charles_

_raceyhuggins: ,,, scroll_

_theking: Okay_   
_theking: Oh shit_

_~_

_theking to santahey:_

_theking: Wtf was that_

_santahey: what do you mean?_

_theking: Dude, I told you that in private_

_santahey: told me what?? :)_

_theking: You little fucker the thing about tony_

_santahey: aww you call him tony??_

_theking: Jack. Now is not the fucking time_

_santahey: dude. just talk to him. he likes you too_

_theking: Yeah sure_

_santahey: \\_(••)_/_

_theking: You even fucked up the shrug emoticon_

_santahey: r00d_

_theking has left the chat_

_santahey: ;)_

_santahey has left the chat_

_-_

_raceyhuggins to theking_

_raceyhuggins: hey are you okay? you know he was kidding right_

_theking: Yeah that's the issue_

_raceyhuggins: what?_

_theking: Ignore that I didn't mean to hit send_

_raceyhuggins: u ok??_

_theking: I'm brilliant_

_raceyhuggins: okay what'd i do_

_theking: Nothing, Ant_

_raceyhuggins: okay thats a lie_   
_raceyhuggins: you're scaring me_

_theking: Oh god it's nothing don't worry about it_

_raceyhuggins: okay_

_theking: You okay?_

_raceyhuggins: no not really but it's fine you don't owe me/need to tell me anything_

_theking: You really wanna know_

_raceyhuggins: if you don't mind sharing_

_theking: I like you, okay. Like, as more than a friend. I wanna kiss your stupid curly hair and hold your hand and all that shit. I wasn't going to tell you, but I don't want you to freak out_   
_theking: Race_   
_theking: It's been two minutes are you okay_   
_theking: I'm sorry._

_raceyhuggins: i'm coming over_

_-_

_raceyhuggins to kathy is mean_

_raceyhuggins: who's up_

_s.jones: it's 4am_

_raceyhuggins: so?_

_s.jones: of course i'm up i'm not lame_

_kblink: what do you want_

_raceyhuggins has been renamed: mr.conlon_

_santehey: fuCKIN CALLED IT_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!!


	26. break

hey!  
so i'm going to take a bit of a break from this. it may be finished, it may not. i'm not sure. i'm jsut not motivated to write this anymore. 

comment if you liked it, it'd mean a lot!

hope to post something new soon!


	27. heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race is an EMT. Spot is drunk, bleeding, and a fucking moron, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im back see end notes for explination :)))

The sirens roared as the van darted down the road. Though they had no idea what was going on, cars left and right pulled over to yield to the noise. The sun beat down on the black pavement, making it unbearable to walk on, and not for the first time Anthony Higgins was thankful that:

  1. A) Ambulances ruled the road
  2. B) He got to save people while feeling like king. 



Morbid as it was, sitting in the back of a speeding ambulance while everyone else in range halts their busy, unrelated lives… Well, it was a rush. And, to top it, he got to make a difference. It was a win-win situation (except for those who needed the ambulance, of course). 

He glances at his fellow EMT’s, Davey and Blue, who are talking quietly about protocol and how to asses this unique situation. 

See, an EMT didn’t have as thrilling of a life as you’d think. You could only drive over the speed limit in a select number of situation, you rarely are given life-threatening situation, and you answer a lot of mundane house-calls, such as sore throats and sprained ankles. 

Still, Race likes helping. He likes making a difference, even if it is comforting  a child home alone during a thunderstorm. He likes helping senior citizens take their medication. He likes making teenagers laugh as he wraps their broken bones and delivers them to the hospital. 

That doesn’t take the adrenaline from cases such as a gunshot wound in Brooklyn, however. They got the call three minutes ago -- an old shop was robbed in Brooklyn, and a citizen jumped between the cashier and the gun seconds before it was too late; as a result he got shot in the shoulder -- and they were already halfway there. 

Race turns to Harvey and David again. 

“Do we know if there’s an exit wound?”

David frowns. “It wasn’t specified, no.”

“Yeah,” Harvey laughs. “I love how much information we’re given sometimes, especially in situations like this.”

The ambulance hits a bump and they all jump out of their bench and hit their heads on various objects. 

“Why do we never hold on?” Harvey says, shaking his head. “Louis always thinks patients are attacking me, what with all the bruises I get from this fucking car.”

Louis, or Sling, is Harvey’s roommate, though Anthony swears that they’re dating. 

Davey rolls his eyes. “It’s because we’re stupid.”

Race opens his mouth, Davey looks at him, he shuts it. 

“No argument,” Race mutters. 

There’s a good reason he’s not allowed to drive the ambulance anymore; there’s a good reason his nickname is Racetrack, and Harvey’s is blue. To sum it up, they were driving back to the station after a simple assignment to help a babysitter bandage a child's arm, and Race drove. And Race  _ raced.  _

And Race stopped suddenly, and Harvey wasn’t holding on. 

Harv had a concussion and a bruise covering his shoulder and chest for weeks, and it’s how he was nicknamed Blue. 

“It’s been awhile since we had a gunshot case,” Dave notes. 

Harvey grins. “I think the last time was on your and Jack’s first year anniversary. Oh, he couldn’t even be mad at you since you were so excited to save that girl.”

David uncharacteristically flushes and mutters something about it not being the time. 

Suddenly, the ambulance makes a few turns and Michael Meyers, or Mush, yells from the driver's seat, “We’re here! Get ready!”

Race grabs his toolbelt, shares a look with the other two, and they open the door. 

The scene is cliche, almost. They are the first to arrive, before any police officers, and chaos still rages the area. People are sobbing, glass is on the ground, and Race can hear people yelling, but he ignores them and follows Davey to where the patient is. 

They find him, sure enough. Lying in the middle of the wrecked store, in a pool of blood, as a crowd forms around him. Race, Davey, and Blue shove past them all and start on their training. 

Before getting the unknown man into the ambulance to take him to a hospital, there are a few things they need to do, also known as the ABCDE Rapid Assessment. 

A - Airway

B - Breathing

C - Circulation 

D - Disability/Neurological 

E - Expose

When Davey and Blue signal that his airway, breathing, and circulation is fine, Race steps in for step D. Anthony knees in front of the short patient and inspects him.

Just as he’s going through his mental lists, the patient laughs. 

“I’m fine,” He says breezily. “Wonderful. I think I can go now.”

Race pauses. “Sit still. I’m not done.” He sniffs. “Are you drunk?”

The patient exhales. “Yep,” He says the word dramatically and pops the “p”. “Very. It’s all a bit  _ blurry _ .”

“Why the hell are you drunk?” Harvey asks before he can stop himself. 

“There is metal in my arm. It hurt, so I asked for something to drink. It feels better now. I ca’ probably go.”

Race shares a look with the other EMT’s and decides to ignore the delirious patient. 

“Sean Conlon,” Daivd says, waving the man's drivers license. “Now John Doe has a name.”

Sean stiffens. “John Doe is a punk ass bitch.”

Race wants to punch whoever gave this man painkillers and alcohol at the same time. He can’t even use the Glasgow Coma Scale (a system used to assess brain damage), as intoxication can mess with the steps. 

Race sighs, “I can’t finish the assessment, he’s too drunk. Let’s move on.”

They do another rapid inspection of Sean’s body and head before applying pressure to the wound and wrap it tightly. 

“Let’s get him in the ambulance,” David says. Blink and Mush are behind them in an instant with a stretcher ready. They carefully place Conlon on it and wheel him to the awaiting ambulance. 

“ You’re all overreacting,” Sean says. 

Race scoffs and hoists the stretcher into the ambulance and pulls himself inside. After preparing an IV, while David and Harvey slam the door shut, he answers. 

“Are we?” 

Sean opens his eyes and looks directly at Race for the first time. “Woah. Hey, doll.”

Race sticks a needle in Sean’s forearm as response. “Now is not the time for flirting,  deficiente.”

“Pretty, smart, and bilingual. I’m in love,” Sean says airly and sighs. He then frowns and stares at his arm. “Ow, what did you do to me?”

“I stuck an IV in you to keep you hydrated,” Race says. “About half a minute ago.”

David snickers and continues to check Sean’s vitals. 

“EMTs come when people go down,” Sean laughs. 

Race exhales and checks the bandages on his shoulder. “No way in hell that you just thought of that.”

Sean simply winks at him. 

Blue laughs. “Race is being flirted with by a high patient with a gunshot wound. This is the best day of my life.”

Race turns on him. “You joke about this and I tell Louis that you sprained your ankle on the job last week and refuse to have it looked at. Still.”

Harvey quips back, but Race knows he’s won. “I’m an EMT. I know how to handle a sprained ankle.”

Davey, who is still adjusting levels on a machine for Spot, laughs. “Is that why you haven’t wrapped, iced, or elevated it and continue to run on it?”

“It’s not that bad,” Harvey says. 

Race snorts. “It’s as blue as your nickname. You know, joke about me and Mr. Conlon here, but I still think I’ll tell Sling. That  _ seriously  _ needs to be looked at.”

Harvey exhales and flops himself onto the bench. There’s nothing more than can do. Sean only has an entry wound to bandage, so if they keep him on his back gravity is on their side. They’ve assessed him as best they can, and he’s bandaged as good as he can get until they reach the hospital. 

“I hope you know CPR,” Sean giggles. “Because you take my breath away.”

Anthony considers jumping out of the vehicle. 

 

-

 

A week later, Anthony is waiting at the lot with the ambulance, waiting for a call. A familiar face comes sauntering towards him.

“Shouldn’t you be on bed rest?” Anthony calls.

“I just got discharged,” Sean says. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

Anthony rolls his eyes. “You told me plenty.”

“What about my phone number?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Search History:  
> EMT  
> what does an emt do for gunshots  
> gunshot wound  
> ABCDE assessment chart  
> Glasgow coma thing  
> ambulance  
> inside ambulance
> 
> so yes this should be pretty accurate but also ive never been in an ambulance and im 15 this is as accurate as a ten minute read of [ this article> it's actually really cool! id read it!!](http://www.emsworld.com/article/10319706/shootings-what-ems-providers-need-know%20will%20get%20me)
> 
>  
> 
> so i do this thing were as soon as something, this fic for instance, feels like an obligation i start to hate it   
> like this is fanfiction. i write for fun  
> but i got so stressed over trying to post once a day. 
> 
> i took a break, and hey i'm back!!!! i'm not going to be posting as often as i did months ago, but i think i'll start posting again!!!!!


	28. homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was just sad. One might call it homesickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and bad but enjoy

Race was sad, I guess. It wasn’t depression or anything like that. It wasn’t anxiety, stress, or anything with a name. 

 

He was just sad. One might call it homesickness.

 

Except, well, he didn’t have a home to miss. 

 

Racetrack _isn’t_ Manhattan like those he sells papers with. He isn’t Brooklyn, though. Or Queens, or Bronx. He’s not _anything_ because that would involved having a family that was rooted in one of those. He didn’t. Race has a small, dirty orphanage in the corner of a crowded city. He ran away by age seven, knowing that _yes, he can survive out here on his own_. 

 

He’s stayed in all the boroughs for days on end before making roots with the Manhattan Newsies when he was twelve. He’s older now, nearly too old to sell papers, and it _still_ doesn’t feel like a home.

 

Jack is his friend, Davey, too, and so are all the other newsies. Anthony just has… Something missing. He doesn’t know what, but he’s convinced he an find it. 

 

Then they had the strike, and they proved to the world that _this, right here,_ is their city too. And they are not moving for anyone. New York is controlled by the big, rich men, yes, but it is run by them. The workers. And if they don’t work, the city _doesn’t_ run. 

 

That helped Race a bit. 

 

The weekly card games at Brooklyn did as well. Jack and Spot seemed to be better friends than they were before, which is good for newsies and Race personally. Brooklyn is a sore spot for him, but this is helping it heal. 

 

Spot is helping it heal. 

 

Unknowingly, of course. This is Spot Conlon we’re talking about; he doesn’t do _warm and fuzzy_. 

 

He does, apparently, walk you to the bridge after you stay a bit later than the rest of the newsies. 

 

He does, apparently, send Blue to do his job so he can take care of you when you get hurt in Brooklyn. 

 

He does, apparently, smile at you in the dead of night, and his lips look like they can hold the sun and his touch is twice as warm.

 

Or maybe he doesn’t do this to everyone, just Anthony. 

 

And that’s okay with him; Race is no longer homesick. He’s found everything he was missing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plz comment


	29. unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry

red and blue lights dance together, illuminating the sky. snow falls delicately,  
blanketing the landscape.

a smattering of red, thick and dark, ruins the newly lain white.

—

"sad hours seem long" was once written by william shakespeare. "sad hours seem long" was once said by a sad, pining boy who had no idea of the whirlwind that was about to consume his life.

race agrees.

to race, a day is a thousand lifetimes.   
to race, it's all meaningless anyways.

for race would give it all, all his days and nights and whatever falls in between, just for one more second with spot. just a chance, a sliver of a glance, to say goodbye.

  
he can’t, though, and this can never be changed. not even if he wishes with every cell to change the past. not even if he screams at the sky and asks for one more, just one more second.

— 

a fight, two teens yelling

—

they find, in the car of a Mr. Morris, two bottles of half-drink whisky and several beer cans.

the drinks were still cold.

— 

one of them gives up. tears are falling from eyes that have swore to never cry again.

hands and gesturing and pointing towards a door.

 _i’m sorry, sean,_ one yells _. but you can’t control my actions. my gambling isn’t hurting you._

 _yes,_ the other cries _. it is. it’s hurting us._

the darker haired one keeps his finger delicately and yet purposely pointed at the door.

—

_is this mr antonio higgins?_

_yes, it is. who am i speaking to?_

_i’m calling from mercy hospital. you’re listed as the emergency contact to a sean conlon, are you not?_

_i am._

_then i am so, so sorry._

—

the boy with freckles that look like constellations fits nearly his entire life into a duffle.

he has wallet. his clothes. computer. everything he needs. it can’t fit tony, so that’s where the nearly plays in.

tony stays in the kitchen, clutching the counter as sean packs up his future.

—

sean is stopped at an intersection. the light is nearly green, but he contemplates turning.

nothing is worth losing race.

he makes up his mind with the click of his tongue.

the light turns green.

he goes forward.

vacantly, he thinks to himself _well, at least they’ll find me going home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes school and mental health suck so i post when i post whoops sorry 
> 
> uh. well. i’m eating pizza. decided to write something. it’s short. but. yeah.


	30. tread lightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literlyl this is bad

“”Well,” Sean says, staring out at the large, abundant city. Noise is endless; New York is alive. “This didn’t go to plan.”

 

It’s three in the morning, so, no, one would say things were not going to plan. What was supposed to be a quick trip across the city has ended with them stuck in the center of the city, due to a freak blizzard. To beat that, the four of them (Jack, David, Sean, and Anthony) are stuck in a one-bed hotel room. 

 

Race is next to him, leaning against the fogged window. “Fuck this.”

 

Spot nods. A glance at the ‘ _ no smoking’  _ sign further smothers his mood. “Fuck this indeed,”’ He says fondly. 

 

David and Jack are already fast asleep, but neither Race not Spot knew they would be getting much sleep on the germ-ridden floor. 

 

Race glances at Spot hesitantly before turning back to the window. “The hotel has a pool.”’

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You wanna?” Race says, hesitantly. Ever since their… their kiss last week, things have been odd between them. 

 

“Yeah,” Spot says, as if he didn’t even have to think about it. 

 

A grin reaches Anthony’s face. “Brilliant.”’

 

\--

 

They end up walking down to the hotel-lobby in their clothing. Like I said, this was not a planned trip. 

 

Only one worker is at the front desk, and they look so bleery and dead that Race doubts they even know what Spot and his plan is. Even if they did, Race could breathe in their direction and they’d collapse. 

 

They tiptoe down the hall until they reach the classic glass-door with a key-slot. 

 

Spot slides their room key in. The rectangle light flashes red. 

 

“Shit,” Spot mutters. “‘Well.”

 

Race winks at him before quickly regretting it. He then crouches and looks at the metal part of the lock;  _ oh, yeah, he could pick this in his sleep _ .

 

He holds his hand out expectantly, and Spot simply hands over a small lock-pick set. 

 

They’re through the door in less than a minute. 

 

\--

 

They left the lights off, as a way to keep their spontaneous trip a secret. Race stands at the edge of the deep end, holding the hem of his shirt in his hands, contemplating stirpping to his underwear. Last week, it would’ve been a no brainer. Now he isn’t so sure. 

 

Then, two calloused hands push him from behind, and he no longer has a decision to make. 

 

The water greets him with open arms, and it embraces him. As soon as he kicks the bottom and resurfaces, Spot’s snorts greet him. 

 

“You  _ asshole _ ,” Anthony says. Spot just shakes his head. 

 

“Takes one to know one.”

 

\--

 

_ it was a bright winter morning  _

 

_ they had just gotten home from work, and anthony had never seemed happier  _

 

_ the wine could have been apart of that  _

 

_ (wine was definitely a part of it) _

 

_ all he did was move three inches over from his usual couch spot. all he had to do was tilt his head, and their lips met.  _

 

this is the first they’ve spoken since.

 

\--

  
  


“We should talk about it,” Tony says, as they float on their backs after several minutes.

 

Spot is characteristically quiet. 

“Sean. Please?”

 

“I-... I just…”

 

“Just what?” Anthony begs. “Talk to me. You’re my best friend.”

 

“What do you want me to say?” Spot says softly; his voice breaks. 

 

“ _ Anything _ ,” Race says. “Hell, just punch me. Get it over with. I deserve it.”

 

Sean inhales so quickly water goes into his lungs and he coughs. Anthony turns from his back; he treads water. Spot joins him. 

 

“I just wasn’t expecting it. That doesn’t mean I hated it.”

 

Anthony tilts his head. “What do you mean?””

 

Sean talks. 

 

\--

 

Later, they don’t talk. 

 

Their lips are otherwise occupied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never post sorry 
> 
> tumblr: @cazei 
> 
> this si really bad and cheesy its kinca funny 
> 
> its nearly 1am and i usualy go to bef at 7:30pm no joke

**Author's Note:**

> comment! your! thoughts! and! prompts!
> 
> ill take sprace and sling/blue prompts (oc's from another series). if you really want a prompt done, message me on tumblr. 
> 
> tumblr: @CalciumSulfide


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